


I Whisper Your Name on Each Star I See Falling

by JezebelGoldstone, littleblackbow



Series: Western AU [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (which lbr is like the best part of any romance amirite), Abuse, Alternate Universe – Western, AoE never happened, Arranged Marriage, CW never happened, Endgame never happened, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, IW never happened, Illustrated, M/M, NONE of the abuse is in the Steve/Tony dynamic, Omegaverse, Parental Abuse, Relationship Negotiation, Romance, Steve is so besotted he doesn't know WHICH way is up, True Love, a/b/o dynamics, abuse recovery, abuse recovery assistance, art by Arukou, art by Rana Raeuchle, basically all the big conflicts canon are entirely ignored, brief mention of past one-sided Steve/Bucky, except no heat and no mpreg and no consent issues, fear of future intimate partner abuse, honestly the most AU part of this whole thing is the huge amount of communication, mentions of past canonical temporary character death, none at all I promise, past abusive relationships, this has nothing to do with Big Eden but there might or might not be one or two references thereto, threats of forced marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 12:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21446470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JezebelGoldstone/pseuds/JezebelGoldstone, https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackbow/pseuds/littleblackbow
Summary: The day Natasha first told Steve her idea, he never would have dreamed that her fool notion would land him here: watching the train roll into the station and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that somewhere in there is the man who agreed to marry him.Steve, an alpha farmer living outside a small town in the Rockies who doesn't want to admit how lonely he is, has been exchanging letters with omega Tony for nearly a year. When at last Tony arrives in Big Eden, Steve is confronted with the fact that he doesn't know Tony as well as he thought he did - and falls for him harder than a landslide anyway.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Western AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546126
Comments: 269
Kudos: 1220
Collections: 2019 Captain America/Iron Man Big Bang, Tony-involved Omegaverse Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are not words to describe how incredibly blessed I was to work with these artists. Seriously, the first piece of art Rana showed me was the one in chapter seven, and I kept the file open on my phone to stare at it for a solid week. The rest of Rana's illustrations? BRILLIANT. I can't even figure out how to convey how awesome they are. And Arukou with the period-accurate calligraphy? Actual images of Tony and Steve's actual letters?? I CAN'T???
> 
> Huge shout-out to Kasie for the FANTASTIC beta. This story would be so, so much worse without her input.
> 
> Gods bless the mods and whoever thought of big bangs in the first place for kicking off the chain of events that led to me being able to collaborate with these wonderful people.
> 
> Not as important, but some general notes:
> 
> I picture MCU or Ults characters but honestly I'm pretty sure this works with any iteration of Tony or Steve.
> 
> This has absolutely nothing to do with Endgame. There aren't even any allusions to it. So far as this story is concerned, pretty much everything post-Original!Avengers never happened.
> 
> For my sex-averse pals: the story is rated G or soft T except when it's not. The whole thing should be entirely understandable and complete even if you do skip the sexy times. If you'd like more detail on what happens during said sexy times, or if you'd like to know beforehand exactly when to stop and start reading again, to avoid spoilers for anyone else please drop a comment and I'll respond.
> 
> And if you enjoy this, then by the gods will you enjoy the hell out of Celestial Navigation by sabrecmc and Stetsons and Schoolteachers by NotEvenCloseToStraight and Sincerely, Yours by Reioka and likely anything by Annie_D.

Steve's waiting on the platform beneath the shade of the station roof, leaning back with his arms crossed and one boot pressed against the wall behind him. He's got his hat pulled low over his eyes and his hands clenched to fists, trying not to show how terrible nervous he is.

Nearly a year ago now, Natasha had started getting after Steve to take out an advertisement for a husband in the personal pages in the newspapers, and soon enough all his friends were in on it. At the time it seemed a never-ending morass of talking and arguing and Byzantine political maneuvering (or near enough), but right now it seems like just yesterday he received the first letter with a New York postmark smelling faintly of flowers and smoke and written in a spiked, elegant hand that by now Steve would recognize anywhere.

The day Natasha first told him her idea, he never would have believed that one day he'd think her fool notion might just be the best thing he's ever done. He never could have dreamed that one day he'd be here: watching the train roll into the station and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that somewhere on that train is the man who agreed to marry him.

It takes the train about a hundred times longer than usual to roll to a stop. A year or so passes before the doors finally open. Steve stays leaning against the wall – ostensibly because he doesn't want to go rushing into the crowd and risk missing him, but really, well. No matter how many times he discreetly unclenches his fingers and wipes his hands on the sides of his shirt, his palms are still slick.

Passengers start disembarking – not many; despite its name Big Eden is a small little town – and Steve looks quick as he can from one face to another, desperately searching for the one face he's never seen but knows he'll recognize anyway.

And then. Steve sees. This omega. Who is just. The single most beautiful person Steve has ever, ever seen.

It takes a moment for his brain to start working again, but as soon as it does Steve is flooded with guilt and furious anger at himself, because _Tony_ is on that train somewhere, and here Steve is gawking at someone else. How dare he? What's _wrong_ with him? Tony is – Steve's never even met him but just from his letters Steve already cares about him so, so much. And yet here Steve is, head turning at the first pretty face he sees.

The omega Steve's now resolutely _not_ looking at is not only beautiful, but is also very well-dressed. More than that, even if he were in rags and tatters it's easy to see just from the way he carries himself and the expression on his face as he looks around the station that he's incredibly wealthy.

And Tony's been very open about the fact that he has little hope of bringing any material wealth into his marriage. He hasn't said quite outright, but Steve can tell he's penniless. All the more reason to marry him as soon as possible, Steve had thought when he found that out. More obliquely, Tony's letters showed over and over again that he doesn't think he's good looking, and it seems most people around him don't think so, either. Steve knows he'll think Tony is beautiful no matter what he looks like – because Steve likes him so much, he won't be able to help himself – but it'd be hard to convince Tony of that when Steve hasn't actually seen him. So he's waited all this time to finally meet Tony so Steve can tell him he's beautiful.

And here he is, moments away from finally getting that chance, and ogling someone else. Steve could kick himself.

Flooded with shame, Steve turns away and searches through everyone else disembarking. Most of the passengers are, if not local, then at least obviously from this part of the country. There is someone else nearly as well-dressed as the beautiful omega, but he's a middle-aged gentleman and looks to be a beta. So far as he can see there's only one other young man from out east, and Steve straightens up and prepares to make his way over – but the young man walks right past him and into the arms of a woman who's clearly a relative, and Steve sags back against the side of the building in disappointment.

He keeps watching the doors, but no one else comes off the train. Tony's not here. All thoughts of the beautiful man are driven from his mind in sudden terror. Where's Tony? The train only stops but once a day, and this was definitely the right day (Steve's lost count of how many times he read the letter with Tony's travel information; that's no one's business but his own). One of the conductors walks past him to go to the ticket window, and Steve asks him if there are any more passengers. The man tartly informs him that there's no one else getting off at this stop and ignores Steve's thanks.

Steve's just about to admit defeat and go to the post office – he'll check for a letter first and then send a telegram; he may end up looking desperate, but Tony IS supposed to be on this train and it's a legitimate concern that something might have happened to him – when someone says, "Mister Rogers?"

He startles and turns to find the middle-aged beta looking at him pointedly. "Yes?" says Steve. "How can I help you?" He almost bites off his tongue not asking if Tony is all right, because he doesn't know any other reason why someone with such a fancy accent would be speaking to him. But Steve has always been cautious of other people's safety, and he's not going to blurt out anything about his omega without at _least_ knowing who this person is.

"I am Mister Jarvis," the man says and holds out his hand. The way he does it, and the way he grips Steve's hand and shakes, is awkward and nearly forced, but Steve doesn't have time to consider that because the next thing the man says is: "I'm Anthony's chaperone. He's waiting with our bags. If you'll please follow me, Mister Rogers."

Anthony. Anthony. TONY. Oh, gods. Tony _is_ here. Steve must have missed him somehow. Perhaps Tony disembarked further down the train? Except the only other place to exit the train is straight out the back of the caboose, and why would Tony have done that? Unless – oh _no_ – what if Tony didn't get off this train because he was already here? What if Steve _did_ get the day wrong and poor Tony's been waiting here since the last train for his erstwhile, useless alpha? Which would mean that Tony's been here _all night_, in a strange new place where he didn't know anyone, and Steve left him here _completely alone_ –

"Thank you," Steve says and hopes he doesn't sound like he's choking. His stomach makes a break for it but can't decide if it wants to crawl out his fool body by way of his throat or his boots. Mr Jarvis turns and leads Steve over to the patch of shade on the other side of the platform and Steve's fit to vibrate out of his own skin, he's that nervous. "Anthony," Mr Jarvis says as they approach the line between harsh sunlight and deep shadow, "I've found Mister Rogers."

Out from the shadows and into the sunlight steps the beautiful man.

Hardly realizing what he's doing, Steve pulls his hat from his head and holds it awkwardly in both hands in front of his gut like a shield. The beautiful – Ton – Anth – Steve's om – _Tony_ looks Steve up and down once, quick, with lightning-sharp eyes, before again looking demurely down. Softly he says, "Hello, Steve."

Steve's heart – the whole _world_ – comes to a standstill. Quiet and gentle as he knows how, Steve says, "Hello, Tony."

Though he keeps his face downturned, Tony glances up at him and their eyes catch and hold. Steve's breathless. He's never seen eyes the color of Tony's before. He's never seen _anyone_ like Tony before.

A throat clears beside him and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. Mr Jarvis is glaring at Steve, but when Tony catches Mr Jarvis's eye and grins at him, Mr Jarvis apparently can't help but smile wryly. Not that Steve can blame him; he doesn't think it'd be possible for anyone to see Tony smiling at them and not smile back.

Mr Jarvis can't help but smile, and Steve can't help but stare. Tony is – Tony is _beautiful_.

"Do you know, Mister Rogers," Mr Jarvis says, interrupting Steve's staring for the second time in less than two minutes, "where we might find a few people to carry Anthony's trunk?"

Steve mentally shakes himself out of it, and looks at the luggage Tony's standing beside. There's not much, just two carpet bags and one good–sized trunk.

"Oh no, that's all right," Steve says, putting his hat back on. "I can get it. It's no trouble."

Despite the fact that he's a good four inches shorter, Mr Jarvis looks down his nose at Steve and sniffs. "Thank you for the courtesy, Mister Rogers, but it's quite heavy."

"Well, let's see," says Steve.

He takes one of the trunk's handles and lifts that end of it off the ground, crouches down and gets his arm beneath it, and stands with the whole of it on his shoulder. Then, because Tony's eyes are on him and it makes him feel just a little wild, Steve bends his knees enough to get the handles for both carpet bags in his free hand, too.

He rocks on his feet for a moment to make sure everything's secure, shifts his arms, and _might_ make a bit of a show of his biceps. Then he says to Mr Jarvis, "It's not so bad. And we're not going very far. If you'll both follow me, please."

And truthfully, the trunk really _isn't_ all that heavy. Not compared to the things Steve hauls about on a daily basis. If he had to carry it all the way back to the house it might be a problem, but just over to the buggy? He likely won't even break a sweat.

He is very, very conscious of his body as they walk. He knows he's not traditionally handsome himself, but based on what people have told him over the years a big strong alpha is almost always attractive, and if nothing else Steve _is_ big and strong. He keeps his back straight and his gait loose and rolling, and tries not to make it terrible obvious he's flexing his arms. When he steals a glance at Tony, he thinks Tony's looking at his arms and shoulders. Steve tries not to grin as he leads them across the platform.

Mr Jarvis begins to speak when Steve reaches the stairs, but Steve just walks down them without breaking stride. Star's waiting demurely at the hitching post. Steve puts both carpet bags on the seat of the buggy and says, "If you'll wait just one moment." Then he goes around and secures the trunk to the back.

When he turns around, both Tony and Mr Jarvis are staring at him. He smiles, trying desperately not to look smug.

"Thank you, Mister Rogers," Mr Jarvis says stiffly. There's something very slightly off in his tone, but Steve can't put his finger on what it is. Or perhaps it's nothing; perhaps it's simply that Mr Jarvis is from a completely different place and a completely different class, and so might as well be from a completely different culture.

"Before we go," Steve says, suddenly hesitant again. He hates talking about things like this. Uncomfortable things like speaking up when someone's being cruel or disrespectful he can do all day, but social niceties or customs or things that might inconvenience someone else – those things he hates talking about with a passion.

"I know you must be tired and hungry from your journey," Steve says, "and I imagine it'd be nice if you could get somewhere comfortable quick. But I also know that even with a chaperone, you may not want to spend a night in a house with an unmarried alpha. So we can either go direct from here to the chapel, or we can go to the house and come back tomorrow well-rested. For my own part I simply want you both to be comfortable, so I leave the choice entirely up to you."

Tony's staring at Steve perfectly blank-faced. Steve's seen blocks of wood with more expression. Mr Jarvis, however, is glaring, and Steve thinks he understands why when he sees Mr Jarvis's gaze sweep behind them, down the main street of the town.

"I'll also let you know," Steve says, "that this town is – We're all friends here. And I've a strong notion we're a good deal less formal than they are back East. There won't be no tongues wagging if we go to the house first. Though, to be honest," Steve says with a smile, "there's like to be more talk if I _don't_ let you rest and eat before dragging you off to the chapel."

Tony and Mr Jarvis are staring at him now even more intently than before, and after a minute more of silence Steve's fighting the urge to shuffle his feet. He's sure he's just mortally offended them, and tries not to imagine Tony turning up his nose and getting right back on the train again.

Mr Jarvis narrows his eyes at him, then straightens up and says, "How often does the train come?"

"Just the once every day," Steve says, confused.

"At the same time every day?"

"Yes," Steve says. "Though, there is another train that passes each night, but that one doesn't stop in town."

This information is met with deep deliberation from both Mr Jarvis and Tony. Steve realizes they're probably trying to decide what train Mr Jarvis will return on; whether they'll be able to hold the wedding tomorrow before the train comes, or if Mr Jarvis would have to wait till the next day to go back.

Finally, though, Mr Jarvis turns to Tony and says, "Well, Anthony? Which would you prefer?"

"Oh no," Tony says, raising his hands and shaking his head, "I am not falling for that again. _You_ are mister prim-and-proper-rules-and-regs, _and_ you're my chaperone. _You_ decide."

Mr Jarvis gives Tony an exasperated look and Tony grins mischievously at him and Steve's heart just about falls out of his chest at the sight of it.

Mr Jarvis sighs, and Steve gets the distinct impression he's trying not to roll his eyes. Then he looks at Steve, lips pursed, clearly weighing every possible nuance of everything that could possibly happen in either scenario. For no reason Steve suddenly wonders if Mr Jarvis used to be a soldier.

Unable to keep his eyes away, Steve darts a glance at Tony. He catches Steve's eye and exaggeratedly rolls his own, then smiles brightly at him. Steve ducks his head and hopes his face isn't so red as it feels.

"And if," Mr Jarvis says, "we go to the chapel now, will the offer to accommodate me for the night still stand?"

Steve's head jerks up, he's so startled. "What? Of course! You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

Now Tony and Mr Jarvis are looking at him like he's grown a second head.

"I mean," Steve says, awkwardly, "it's your house now too, Tony, and I know it's not your home yet but I'd like it to be someday. You can do whatever you like, have as many people over for as long as you want them. And honestly, I mean, you only just got here and you don't know anyone yet – other than me, but, I mean, I know it's not the same – so honestly the longer you'd like to stay the better, Mister Jarvis."

He'd rather thought the invitation might be a welcome one, but judging by the looks they both level him with he was mistaken. Tony's not smiling, instead frowning slightly with his brows drawn together like he's trying to figure something out. Mr Jarvis is glaring more outright than before. Steve has not the faintest notion how inviting Tony's chaperone to stay with them is so insulting. If only one or the other of them were upset he could understand, but _both_ of them? He's left just standing there, not even able to respond or try to smooth things over, because he just doesn't _understand_.

The silence is broken by Mr Jarvis. He smiles, makes an expansive gesture to the buggy, and says, "I shall have to insist the wedding take place before the train arrives tomorrow. But so long as that is assured, then by all means, let us away to your home."

Rather than break the tension, though, this response merely ratchets the tension higher: Mr Jarvis's smile is so cold even Steve can tell it's not just a cultural difference, and his voice is icy enough to make even the bright mountain sun dim.

"Of course," Steve says, because what else _can_ he say? "If you'd just," and he holds his hand out to the buggy to indicate they should climb up.

Mr Jarvis goes first, which surprises Steve; he'd assumed Mr Jarvis would help Tony up. But a split second later Steve realizes this means Mr Jarvis will be sitting _between_ he and Tony, and he has to repress a sigh.

Once Mr Jarvis is in the buggy Tony grasps the bar and puts his foot on the wheel in preparation of climbing up himself, and Steve automatically offers his hand. Tony, too, seems to take it automatically and without even looking, but–

The moment they touch their eyes snap to each other.

Tony's eyes are very brown. They're incredible. Not just one shade, no, but a hundred, a thousand; clear and deep, like gazing into the depths of dark amber.

Mr Jarvis clears his throat again and Steve snaps out of it, guiltily ducking his head. Quite aside from gazing at him like a lovesick loon, Steve's been holding Tony's hand for goodness only knows how long. Tony climbs up into the buggy and Steve helps him keep his balance, then unhitches Star before climbing up on his own side.

The ride to the house is quiet. Steve had wondered if it would be like this, or if he'd be pointing things out to Tony and telling him all about the people and the places they're passing. Fortunately they only pass one other person on the road; unfortunately that person is Clint. Steve tenses the moment he sees him heading towards them.

For some reason, though, Clint makes a fool of neither himself nor Steve. He simply tips his hat as he passes by the buggy and Steve raises his hand in greeting.

Once Clint is behind them, Steve decides he won't get much of a better chance to see if Tony and Mr Jarvis are silent because they wish to be, or because they have nothing to say.

"That's Clint," Steve says. "Clint Barton. Owns the piece of land borders ours to the east. He's a good sort; plans most of the parties and get-togethers hereabout. He'll be eager to meet you once you're settled in, Tony."

Tony smiles at him but doesn't say anything. Mr Jarvis side-eyes him so severely Steve resolves to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the drive. He has no idea what he did to garner such a reaction.

The closer they get to the house, the more Steve realizes it's not going to go the way he thought. He's daydreamed, so many times, of bringing Tony _home_. How perhaps the house would be nicer than what Tony was used to – almost certainly there will be a lot more space. Maybe he'd even be pleased with how big and nice it is; would be pleased with how well Steve's done for them. For _him_.

Now, though, driving towards it with an obviously wealthy Tony and an openly disdainful Mr Jarvis, Steve's seeing it through their eyes, and it looks like naught so much as a rude little hovel. Tiny and mean and out in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere, with not even polish on the floor or the first story divided into more than one room. He has the half-wild urge to turn the buggy around, tell them the house burned down and put them up at the hotel in town instead.

But as with all things Steve can't change, he puts his head down, grits his teeth, plants his feet and soldiers on.

The closer they get to the house the more Steve wishes he could just skip the next hour or two of his life. If wishes were horses, though.

They pull up in front of the house, and Steve immediately jumps down to tie Star to the hitching-post. Usually she's his number one priority, and getting her fed and watered and comfortable _always_ comes before doing the same for himself, but, well. There's nothing in all the world that's more important to him than Tony, and if he's honest he wants to see Tony's first reaction when he goes inside, if only so he can see the worst of it and be prepared for whatever might happen later.

It's the work of but a moment to secure the Star, but even so by the time he does Tony's already out of the buggy. He's standing right beside it, ignoring Steve and Mr Jarvis both, with his hands clenched together in front of him and bouncing on the front of his feet. He looks like he's trying to take off running but some invisible force is holding the back of his pants. But... he's looking at the house? And... not quite smiling, perhaps, but _almost_ smiling. Like what happens right before a smile; or like he _wants_ to smile but isn't paying enough attention to actually do so. Steve has no idea what he's thinking.

"If you'll just follow me," Steve says, gesturing to the house as Mr Jarvis climbs down from the buggy as well. Steve tears his eyes away from confounding Tony long enough to see Mr Jarvis smoothing down his vest and looking intently at the house, but he's not sneering or looking down his nose. Steve doesn't understand him, either.

He leads them to the house and up the porch. He wants to reach out and help Tony again, but it's only three steps; Steve just wants an excuse to touch him. He fights down the urge.

He opens the front door and gestures Tony and Mr Jarvis to enter before him. He loses sight of Tony's face for a moment, of course, but he immediately spins around a few times, eyes darting fast as birds, looking at every single thing. He still isn't smiling; instead looks very intent.

Steve looks around, too, can't help it; looks around like he's never seen the room before, despite having built it with his own two hands. Sees it, again, through the eyes of wealthy city folk.

If nothing else, the room is spotless. The whole _house_ is spotless; Steve's been a nervous wreck ever since Tony said yes, and for the last few days he's been cleaning like a madman, just for something to do with his hands, just because he'd wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for Tony.

The windows are open and the white muslin curtains flutter in the breeze. The stove gleams like ink. The pots and pans hanging are also impeccably clean. The floor isn't polished but there's not a speck of dirt on it. The walls are bare and whitewashed, not painted, but there are no cobwebs or soot stains anywhere. There's no art on the walls, and the curtains and tablecloth are the only ones Steve has.

There's a vase of wildflowers on the table. The vase was a gift from Natasha, two days ago, when he mentioned giving Tony flowers and said something about putting them in a cup. He'd made himself go for a walk and watch the sun rise this morning, to calm his nerves, and had plucked every lovely flower he saw on his way back. He's not sure if he arranged them correctly, or if despite their individual loveliness he's put them together in such a way that together they look neither lovely nor classy.

"I know it's terrible bare," Steve says, unable to keep quite but managing to stop himself from apologizing for everything from the roof right on down, "but I didn't know what you would like. I thought, I thought maybe you'd like to choose things yourself."

Again the looks they train on him are odd and harsh. Steve would give up on understanding what on earth he's done wrong were it not for how important Tony is.

"I'll make up the second guest room," Steve says. "You can go look at the rooms, Tony, and pick which one you'd like while I get your trunk. You can each have your own or share as you like."

At this Tony's eyes actually bug out of his head and his mouth drops open, and Mr Jarvis rears back like he's been slapped. Steve flees to do as he said, unsure how to apologize for suggesting they share and unable to bear being in the same room as either of them any longer. If anything, though, his confusion is a hundred times worse a short time later, when Tony and Mr Jarvis bring their bags inside and do, in fact, put them in the same room. Steve's never been so unsure in all his life.

He cooks dinner for them and starts early, just to have something to do with his hands. It eases his heart when Tony keeps circling the house like a tornado, touching and looking at everything. Surely that means he can't be too disgusted or disappointed? Or at the very least it means that he's already planning how to make things more to his liking, which is just as well. Mr Jarvis sits at the table and glares at Steve the whole time, though, and it makes him so nervous he nearly slices his hand instead of the bread more than once.

Steve hadn't wanted Tony to have to do a single thing – not just today but for a long while yet, not till he gets settled and decides what he wanted to do – and had expected to not want to spend much time on supper, so all he has to do is heat up food he's already made. He is, of course, embarrassed by this too, as all he has to offer is a hearty stew and thick bread. He'd thought – well. Clearly he'd thought a lot of things that weren't going to come true.

At least neither of them makes any snide comments about the food once they sit down to supper, and neither of them turns up their noses at it. The meal passes in perfect silence. After supper Steve cleans up by himself; even though Tony and Mr Jarvis both offer to help, Steve insists. Mr Jarvis, in particular, looks supremely uncomfortable with this, but as always Steve's at a loss to explain why.

While Steve's just finishing the cleaning up, Mr Jarvis says he's going to do some reading. He fetches a book from upstairs and settles himself in one of the chairs by the fire.

Trying not to look too eager or sick with nerves, Steve turns to Tony and ducks his head and ventures, "I'm going to go sit on the porch for a bit, if, if perhaps you'd like to join me?"

Shyly, it seems, Tony accepts. Mr Jarvis gives a pointed look to Tony, and a severe look to Steve, but doesn't object.

So they go and sit outside and Steve wouldn't be able to draw right now if his life depended on it - he'd either sit staring at the blank page and panicking, or he'd get feverish and frantic trying to capture every line and curve and angle of the one and only thing he'd want to draw. The only thing he's wanted to draw for months, now, and never had the chance.

Most times Steve likes to draw landscapes. He's drawn the view from the porch more times than he can count, but only because every time he looks it's just a little bit different. A few times - the few times he managed to work up the courage - he carefully folded sketches of the view or the woods or the town or the mountain into the letters he sent to Tony. If Tony recognizes that what he's looking at is something Steve drew for him many a time he doesn't say, and Steve can't find the words to point it out to him without sounding like he's fishing for compliments. Not that Tony would be able to see the similarities anyway, it's so dark. Steve picks up his whittling instead.

They sit in silence until the stars come out. Steve tries desperately not to stare too boldly at Tony's face. He's so beautiful.

Finally, when night has truly fallen and Steve's worried that at any moment Tony will get up and go inside and he'll lose his chance to say anything to him while they're alone, Steve says, "Tony," very softly, and then stops.

Tony turns to look at him. His eyes gleam in the starlight. "Yes, Steve?"

"Listen," Steve says. He stopped whittling ages ago; now he lets the tools fall onto the table at his side and twists in his seat, leaning towards Tony. "I know that both of us knew this would be moving real quick, but you only just saw the place. If you don't want to get married tomorrow, that's fine. You can stay here while you make up your mind, or I can get you a room at the hotel in town. Like I said before, Mister Jarvis is welcome to stay as long as he likes. I know – I know we both knew this was going to be fast, but Tony, don't do anything you don't want to do. Don't do something you're going to regret."

Tony stares at Steve for a long, long time. Steve can't bring himself to look away. He wants this, he wants Tony, more than he ever thought possible, more than he'll ever be able to say, but just to take, just to keep him here, that's not what Steve wants. Steve wants _Tony_ to want to be here. It's something that can't be forced. It's something that won't count if Tony doesn't have any other option. So Steve's going to give him that, though he might break his own heart in the process. He looks at Tony and wonders if he's just said that words that will ensure he never has the opportunity to look at him again.

Tony quirks a smile, just a tiny little thing. "You didn't exactly know what you were getting into either, Steve. We've barely talked. You haven't even sampled my cooking yet. Do you want to wait to get married, and see how I do with everything first?"

No. Steve doesn't want to wait. Steve wants to pick Tony up and march into town and roust Thor from his bed and get married right this very second.

Instead Steve tries to dispel whatever worries Tony might still be harboring. "You don't ever have to cook if you don't want to," he says. "Nor clean nor work outside, neither. If there's anything you want to do but don't know how I can teach you, or someone else can teach us both."

Tony stares at him intently. Steve had meant to lift any worries he might be carrying, but from the look of him Steve trebled his burdens instead.

"And if I never learn?" Tony says quietly. "If nothing I cook is ever edible, and I never want to do anything but laze about in the shade all day and let you do all the work?"

Steve shrugs, trying to look like he's not about to gather Tony into his lap and promise him the world if only he'll smile. "Then you laze about in the shade all day and I'll take care of everything. I just want you to be happy, Tony."

"Why?" Tony demands.

They look at each other wide-eyed. Steve hadn't meant to say that last part, and by the look on Tony's face he hadn't meant to ask that, either.

"Because I care about you," Steve says. "Because – Because seeing you happy will make me happy, too."

Tony stares at him for so long Steve's back starts to hurt from being held at this angle for so long. He doesn't move, though. Tony searches his face for ages, and then gives him a quick but obviously thorough once-over from head to foot.

"All right," Tony whispers. He closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, tipping his head up and rocking the chair a bit. "All right. Let's get married. Tomorrow. Please."

"You want to?" Steve asks. He doesn't want to give Tony the opportunity to leave. He doesn't want Tony to feel the least bit forced to make this decision. He can't really change a lot of it, but he can make damn sure none of the pressure comes from him.

"Yes, Steve," Tony says. His eyes are still closed.

Steve doesn't really believe him, but he looks closer and sees that Tony's smiling, now, soft and sad and hopeful all at once. Or maybe Steve just can't see well through the darkness.

But, well, Tony's made his decision and told it to Steve very clearly. Steve going against his wishes and NOT marrying him would be just as bad as Steve forcing him to get married if he didn't want to.

...Well. No. Not _nearly_ as bad, but the same _kind_ of bad, certainly.

Tony heaves himself up from his chair, and Steve's thankful for the darkness when Tony stretches with his arms above his head and Steve feels his face go hot.

"Good night, Steve," Tony says. He smiles at Steve, this one looking a good deal more genuine if still a little wistful, and turns towards the door.

"Good night, Tony," Steve whispers after him, and doesn't know if Tony hears. He shuts the door and Steve stays on the porch for a long, long time.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning – the morning of the wedding; the morning of the day Steve and Tony have agreed to marry – Steve's up before the sun, which is early even for him. When he gets back to the house after seeing to the stock it's roughly the same time as when he first heads out on a normal morning.

He's surprised to find the kitchen occupied not by Tony, but by Mr Jarvis. He's more surprised to find a hot pot of coffee waiting and, when he looks around as he pours himself a cup, the room seems to have been tidied. Cityfolk make no kind of sense.

Mr Jarvis and Steve drink weak coffee in silence for a while. The very air is oppressive, though Steve hopes it's all in his head and he's only imagining Mr Jarvis is glaring at him. He listens to the birds outside and tries to concentrate on the sound rather than on the worry of what the day may bring.

"Mister Rogers," Mr Jarvis says, setting his cup down and fixing Steve with a hard look. Steve is definitely not imagining the glare. "Anthony is an unusual young man. He's not like most other young men, or most other omegas. He's not like most other _people._ it can be very difficult to get to know him, but doing so will allow you to get to know one of the most amazing people to ever live.

"And," Mr Jarvis continues, voice dropping and eyes glittering, "make no mistake that though it may seem Anthony is quite alone out here, there are still people who care about him, and who will make sure he's looked after. People who will notice if he doesn't write, or if there's any hint of strife or coercion in any of his letters. People with, shall we say, certain skill sets and an affinity for poisons."

Steve gulps. Later he'll be both impressed and relieved by how frightening Mr Jarvis can be and the fact that there are people in the world other than Steve trying to take care of Tony. Right now, though, he's mostly just intimidated.

"Understood, sir," he says. Mr Jarvis nods sharply and goes back to his coffee like the whole thing never happened. Steve can't just leave him to think that his threats were needed, though. Can't let him watch Steve marry Tony without knowing that Tony's going to be safe. "If I may, though," Steve continues doggedly, "you don't need to worry. I'll - I know Tony and I haven't known each other that long, but please believe me when I say there is nothing in this world more important to me than Tony's safety and happiness. I'm going to do my best to make sure he has both."

"Hm," Mr Jarvis says. "See that you do."

Before Steve can figure out what he's doing Mr Jarvis magics up breakfast and whisks it upstairs to tony, so Steve goes and hitches up the buggy and then ducks upstairs as well to wash and dress. He goes back downstairs to check Star one last time, and as he comes back inside Tony walks down the stairs into the kitchen. Steve's breath stops in his throat. He's in a rich black suit, and his hair is slicked back, and he's obviously put so much effort into his appearance, and it's because he's on his way to marry _Steve._

Tony stops at the foot of the staircase, too, and stares at him open-mouthed. Steve doesn't know why, but he hopes it's not because Tony's shocked at how poorly Steve cleans up.

Once again, Steve is nearly overwhelmed by the urge to offer Tony his hand to help him, and one again Steve resists because Tony doesn't actually _need_ help; Steve just wants to touch him. He resists again when they walk down the steps off the porch, and yet again hen they climb into the buggy (Mr Jarvis in the middle, as yesterday), but when they get to the chapel Tony's still sitting in the buggy and Mr Jarvis is waiting at the foot of the chapel steps by the time Steve ties Star to the hitching-post, so Steve takes that as tacit agreement that he's allowed to offer his hand this time.

So offer it he does; he goes to the far side of the buggy and finds Tony watching him, leaning forward like he's waiting. Once again caught in the intensity of tony's eyes Steve holds up his hand, and the moment Tony's warm fingers close over Steve's own it's like everything in the world spins down to naught but Tony's eyes and that one point of contact. It seems to take a century for Tony to make the journey from the buggy to the ground, but even so Steve ends up just standing there with Tony's hand cradled in his own, no doubt gawping down at him like a fish.

At last Tony looks away – perhaps in shyness, perhaps in discomfort – and Steve finally remembers to let go of his hand. But when he makes so bold as to offer Tony his arm, Tony actually smiles at him when he puts his hand gently in the crook of Steve's elbow.

Steve may have existed in a state of constant confusion for the last two days, and he may be more afraid than he's ever been in his life, and he may not be able to tell if he can actually feel the warmth of Tony's hand through his shirt and jacket or if it's just his imagination, but he still walks up the chapel steps feeling ten feet tall.

They walk into the cool interior of the chapel and it's all a blur until he's holding both of Tony's hands in both of his own, staring deep into those eyes and making his vows. And then again when he's trying not to shake apart into a million pieces as Tony gazes up at him and makes his own vows right back.

When Thor pronounces them wedded husbands they smile widely at each other, but it doesn't occur to Steve to kiss him. Nothing could be more satisfying than the look in Tony's deep brown eyes, the gentle upward curve of his lips.

He's knocked from his contemplation of Tony's flushed face and the feel of his hands in Steve's by whooping and hollering. He turns and sees most of his friends must've arrived while he wasn't paying attention. Frigga's in the front row, and surprisingly Loki is at her side. Mr Jarvis is at the other end of the same pew, of course. Scattered through the rest of the pews are Natasha, Bruce, Clint, Jane, Darcy, Sam, Maria, Brunnhilde, and half the rest of the town.

He sneaks a glance at Tony and sees him duck his head shyly, but there's still a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Steve leans sideways and whispers to him, "We should make a run for it. It's tradition."

"All right," Tony whispers back, so Steve puts his right hand on Tony's back and takes Tony's left hand in his own and they run for the door. Tony laughs as everyone pelts them with grain and flowers. It's perfect.

They burst out the front doors and everyone else thunders after them. Somehow Mr Jarvis manages to be right behind them, so he's standing beside them when everyone rushes up to offer congratulations. Steve pulls everyone else away far enough for Tony and Mr Jarvis to be able to say whatever it is they need to say in peace.

It feels like hours later, but at last Steve manages to convince everyone that Tony's still tired from his journey and that Steve will introduce him around in a few days. Truly he's not sure how Tony would handle being introduced to so many people at once, all for the fact that Steve's written to him about each of them many times. After another round of hugs and kissed cheeks they reluctantly disperse, but Steve feels them all watching the rest of the time they're in town.

The three of them climb into the buggy for the short trip to the station, and Steve turns away as the train rumbles up to the platform to give Tony and Jarvis as much privacy as he can while they say goodbye one last time.

"Mister Rogers," Mr Jarvis says right behind him, and Steve turns in surprise. Mr Jarvis is looking at him seriously, and after a moment he holds out his hand.

It strikes Steve in the gut, the desperate longing for Mr Jarvis to stay. He's a good man and the gods can see how very much he cares for Tony, and how well he takes care of him. Steve wants to be able to ask him how to make Tony happy. Once he leaves, Steve will be the only other person on this mountain Tony knows. Steve wants Mr Jarvis to _stay_.

"Safe travels, Mister Jarvis," Steve says with a surprising amount of emotion, gripping his hand tight. Mr Jarvis grips his hand back and Steve's surprised all over again when he realizes how little Mr Jarvis wants to leave. "You know you can stay, right? Or come back any time, for however long you want. You don't have to write ahead or anything."

Something pretending to be a smile flits over Mr Jarvis's face. "I'm afraid that's not possible at this time, but I will try."

He lets go of Steve's hand but doesn't turn away. A moment later Steve hopes he doesn't sound too foolish when he says, "I'll take care of him, Mister Jarvis. I promise."

A moment later Mr Jarvis says again, "See that you do."

Then he gathers his bag and boards the train and doesn't look back. Steve and Tony stay on the platform until the train rounds the first curve and is lost to sight. And then Tony and Steve climb into the buggy again and away they go. Alone.

Tony's quiet the whole time. Steve can't break the silence; doesn't know what to say. Wants to comfort him and doesn't know how. Can't stop stealing glances at him and jerking his eyes away in guilt and frustration at himself for witnessing the childlike longing Tony's doing such a poor job of hiding. They reach the house and Steve wants to point out everything that can be changed to whatever Tony would like, or take him for a walk and show him all the things about this place that Steve loves, or point out everything Steve's already told him about so maybe things don't feel so unknown. But Tony doesn't say a word and Steve doesn't know how to start.

So they get back, and eat dinner, and retire to the pair of armchairs by the fire ostensibly to read, and as the day drags on and the shadows lengthen Tony gets – well he can't get more quiet, since it's not like he can speak less than not at all, but – it's like everything _else_ about him gets quiet, too. But he refuses to cower, sitting ramrod straight with his chin up and his shoulders back and staring intently at the wall.

Tony is just so _different_ in person. Not that it's a bad thing! If anything, in person he's even more enchanting. Just... In all his letters, Tony was so curious. About everything. Steve told him about so many things, about his friends and the house and the surrounding environs and Tony seemed so excited. He'd asked questions and follow-up questions and he was interested in Steve himself, too; managed to get Steve to tell him things Steve hasn't told anyone. Even over letters he managed to take Steve by surprise and get him to say things he didn't mean to say. And now –

Steve looks at this perfect stranger sitting in the armchair on the other side of the fire, and thinks about waking in the dead of night from a dream he doesn't want to remember and writing with shaking hands "My best friend died in the mountains because I couldn't save him" and feels more flayed open than he ever has before, knowing that this man read those words and it turns out Steve doesn't know him at all.

At last Steve can't take it anymore, and the moment it's plausible he says, "Well. Guess I'll turn in, then."

"All right," Tony says. He isn't whispering, Steve can hear him clearly, but all the same it's like his voice is _quiet_ for how little inflection there is in the words.

Tony stands, and Steve says, "Are you turning in, too?"

A pause. Tony's throat jumps as he swallows, but he doesn't move otherwise, not even his eyes. "Yes," he says.

So Steve moves about the first floor making sure everything's locked up tight, and banking the fire, and doing all the other little things that need to be done before he can go up to bed, and Tony just stands there in front of the armchair. Steve passes him and thinks Tony's trembling but he isn't sure, and he wants to touch him, somehow, help him if it's because he's tired or comfort him if it's not, but Steve's already given so much of himself away and is realizing he doesn't know where anything he gave away went, so he clenches his fists and can't bring himself to let their fingers brush when he hands Tony one of the two lit lamps.

They walk upstairs, Tony behind Steve, and Steve still wants to do something for Tony but already feels so vulnerable he can barely move, so all he does is turn at the top of the stairs and say, "If you need extra blankets or anything there's some in the chest downstairs. I get up at about sunrise every day, but you can get up whenever you like. I'll leave you some breakfast."

Tony just _stares_ at him, looking so surprised it's like he thinks Steve just told him he's secretly a centaur or something, and Steve wants to gather him up in his arms and also maybe shake him and ask him what the hell's going on.

But he can't do either of those things so he flees into his room instead, and feels so guilty for feeling so relieved when he finally has a closed door between himself and that strange omega outside, whoever he is.

It's early yet, but what is Steve going to do? The faster he can get to sleep the faster it'll be tomorrow and maybe things'll be different. So he gets ready for sleep, but at the last moment he stands looking down at his bed and he just can't do it.

Steve keeps a stub of candle by his bed, the end of any candle too short for a holder but too long to justify throwing away, which is what he likes when he wakes from nightmares and literally cannot stand the dark. Once or twice he's written Tony by its light, but more often than not his habit over the last year has become to light it, tumble out of bed, and read sheaves of Tony's letters over again. And now he's acting like he just woke from a nightmare even though he _didn't__,_ but instead of going to bed he lights the candle stub and douses the lamp and curls up on the floor with his back to the foot of his bed and the small chest he keeps Tony's precious letters in open in front of his knees.

He starts with the first one Tony wrote him after Steve told him about Bucky – except Steve didn't tell him anything specific, just that his best friend was – well. So Steve reads that letter and then reads it again, and then he goes back to the beginning and re-reads every letter Tony has ever sent him, and without realizing it's happening he drops off to sleep on the floor feeling overwhelmed with guilt for how he wants the Tony of the letters so much more than the Tony in the next room.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve's hope that the next day would be easier is quickly dashed. If anything, over the next few days things carry on and just keep getting worse. Tony doesn't talk much. Tony doesn't do much of anything, really. Which would be fine, Steve wants Tony to not do anything if he doesn't want to, but this isn't the same. This isn't Tony doing what he wants to do, this is Tony... unsure of what to do. There are things he wants to do, Steve can tell, but damned if he can tell what they are. Or figure why Tony doesn't just _do_ them.

So Steve avoids Tony, and Tony doesn't exactly avoid Steve but he sure doesn't seek him out. The day after their wedding Tony stays in the house all day, and then the next day he comes down for breakfast but when Steve ducks back inside after seeing to the stock Tony's back up in his room. After that Steve doesn't see Tony at all for three days. He stays locked away in his room, and Steve only knows he ever emerges because there's food missing. He's just glad that at least Tony's eating.

The third day Steve doesn't see Tony at all he decides that tomorrow he'll go into town. He hopes the possibility of going into town will tempt Tony out of his room, but no luck. Steve knocks on his door the night before and when Tony doesn't answer (Steve doesn't even try the knob) he says through the door, "I'm going into town tomorrow morning. If you want to come, that'd be – that'd be great. I'll, um, I'll wake you early enough to come. If you don't want to come that's fine, too, of course. Whatever you want."

He waits a full five minutes but there's no reply, and he wonders at what point he should start worrying that Tony died in there or something. But then he remembers the missing food, so he goes to bed dejected and hopeful for the morning.

After he eats the next morning he taps on Tony's door again. "Tony?" he calls gently. "I'll be leaving for town in about an hour if you want to come." Still no reply.

He goes outside and tends the stock without lighting a lamp or unbanking the fire or eating, then he comes back inside, washes up, and knocks on Tony's door again. "Tony? If, um, if you want to come into town with me, I'm, I'm leaving."

Still no reply.

Steve hangs his head and tries not to sigh, not wanting Tony to hear him. "Goodbye, Tony," he says. "I'll be back this afternoon."

He goes down the stairs and intends to just grab a hunk of bread to eat on the way when he spots an envelope on the table. His heart leaps in his chest, his mind immediately screaming LETTER FROM TONY! TODAY IS THE BEST DAY OF THIS WHOLE WEEK!!

...Until he remembers that Tony's right upstairs. Christ, he's such a fool. He picks up the letter and sees it's addressed to Mr Jarvis, and _obviously_ Tony's writing a letter to someone who _is not here_, because that is the _point_ of letters, so there's no reason for Steve to be so crushingly disappointed or so desperately hurt.

Letter tucked into his breast pocket for safekeeping Steve goes into town, posts the letter, runs his errands – buys more paper and envelopes and things so Tony can write his people back home, and none of it is nearly so fine as the stationary Tony usually uses. He's too embarrassed to order anything nicer, though, since he doesn't want to get the wrong thing and doesn't want Darcy to know he doesn’t know what he _should_ order, so he figures the plain stationary is better than nothing.

Unable to face going back to the house yet and unable to admit to himself why that is, Steve tells Natasha about everything over a single glass at Brunnhilde's saloon. After a little while he realizes he's run out of things to say and is just repeating himself, so he makes himself close his mouth, turning his cup around and around in his hands.

Natasha's quiet for a moment. He can feel her studying him and can't bring himself to raise his head. Then she says, firmly and over-enunciating every syllable, "You're being an idiot, Steve."

Now he raises his head and glares at her. "That is no kind of help."

She lays her hand on his shoulder. "You know I love you. You're one of the best people I've ever met, and I want you to be happy. But you're not thinking about this from his point of view and you need to."

"I am, though," Steve protests, "I'm trying so hard to understand –"

Natasha shakes her head. "It's not enough to imagine what it would feel like to be in the same situation as someone else. You have to imagine how it would feel to _be them_. You know how _you_ would feel if you were in Tony's place, but Steve, you're not Tony. How Tony's feeling is clearly very different from how you feel."

"But I don't _know_ what he's thinking!" Steve spreads his hands helplessly. "That's the problem! I can't figure out what's going on in that head of his, so I can't figure out how to make him –" and then he cuts himself off, because, well. Natasha knows he married Tony, so clearly Steve's at least a tiny bit fond of him. But he doesn't know how to say he wants Tony to be the happiest man alive. Certainly doesn't know how to say that in the middle of a bar in the middle of the day to someone like Natasha without sounding ridiculous.

Before Natasha can say anything Steve turns on her. "You've got to help me, Tasha. You know what he's thinking, I know you do. Please help me."

She squints suspiciously at him for a moment and he holds his breath. Finally she sighs and shrugs. "All right. You want to know what he's thinking, and feeling, and how to make him think and feel good things?"

"_Yes_," Steve says, heart beating like a stampede.

She gives him a hard look. "I can tell you how to find this out, but it will not be easy. You will have to do things that are very, very difficult for you. I know you, Steve, and this will not be easy for you."

"I'll do _anything_," Steve breathes, because he will.

She puts both her hands on his shoulders and holds him firmly, looking him full in the face, and says: "_Ask. Him._"

Steve blinks. Then blinks again. "What?"

Natasha shakes him. "Steven. _Talk. To. Him!_"

"I don't – Tasha!" he says, turning away in annoyance and disappointment. "I was being serious! This is –"

"So was I. And this," jabbing her finger towards his face, "is a huge part of the problem. It didn't occur to you to talk to him, and even when I suggested it you thought it was a joke."

"Tasha," he sighs, "I need a little bit _more_ than just asking him."

"No," she says. "You don't."

"And what if he doesn't tell me?" Steve doesn't want to say 'and what if he lies,' because he's not going to accuse his own husband of being a liar – but still, the fear is there.

Natasha shrugs. "Then he doesn't tell you, and that is _his choice_. Remember I said this would be hard for you? Well, trusting him is one of those things that's not going to be easy."

"What if he tells me and I don't understand?" He says this more quietly. He's not – he's not like Tony. He isn't well-educated and sophisticated. He isn't near so clever. He wasn't raised in a city and he's never had real _money_ a day in his life.

"Then you tell him you don't understand," she says. "Steve. The most important thing at this point is that he knows you're _trying_. All right? Don't pressure him for information he doesn't want to give, but if he _does_ tell you something, make _sure_ you understand. It's better to ask questions for clarification so he knows you're really trying to understand, rather than him thinking you do understand are simply ignoring him when you don't do as he asks."

"I suppose," Steve says slowly.

They sit in silence for a while longer while Steve tries to imagine doing as Natasha says. It doesn't work very well.

"I still don't see how I can just walk up to him and say 'what are you thinking? Why aren't you happy?'"

Natasha laughs, but not unkindly. "You're right. That probably won't go over very well. Just... ask him what he expects. Tell him what _you_ expect, all right? I know you, Steven Rogers, so I'm well aware that you have absolutely not laid down any boundaries or expectations at _all_."

"But I don't have any," Steve says, spreading his hands again. "I really don't, Tasha. Whatever he wants I'll do."

She shakes her head. "You don't know where he's been, or what he's been through, or what his life has been like. And he has no idea what life out here is like. He doesn't know what his options are. _you_ don't know what his options used to be. You must be clearer than that, Steve."

"So, what," he says, "I should give him a list of things I _don't_ expect him to do? Hello Tony, lovely weather we're having, and by the way I don't expect you to cook if you don't want to, or mend my socks, or take Star out every morning to learn horseback hand-stands?"

Natasha laughs again, even more genuinely. "Honestly? That wouldn't be a bad start, Steve."

He looks at her. "You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious."

"No. That's – how would that help?"

"You're not listening," she says. "What if he got information from someone who didn't know what they were talking about, so he _does_ think that horseback hand-stands are necessary for survival out here? What if all he knows of the west is what they write in those horrid pulp novels? What if he thinks that if he doesn't darn your socks you won't force him to, but you'll get someone else to do it instead and resent him for it?"

"That's _ridiculous_."

"But you don't _know_ that, Steve," she says. "And more to the point, neither does _he_. So yes. I do think it would be a good idea for you to sit him down and give him a list of all the things you do and do not expect of him, no matter how foolish or obvious they may seem to you. Because Steve? This is the part you're not getting: _Tony isn't you._."

Steve holds her eye for a moment, then drops his eyes and mutters into his drink, "I still think I'd sound foolish."

She shrugs again. "Probably you will. But what's the point of being married if you can't seem foolish around your husband every now and again? Besides, wouldn't it put _your_ mind at rest if _he_ were to give _you_ a list of exactly what he does and does not need or want from you?"

_That_ brings Steve up short. Because now that Natasha says that – Yes. Oh, but that sounds _wonderful_. He wishes to the gods that Tony _would_ give him some sort of list like that. Because what does Steve know of wealthy cityfolk and their ways? How is he to know what Tony thinks a marriage is supposed to be like; how is he to know what Tony thinks being a good husband means? All Steve wants is to be a good husband to Tony, but how _could_ he if Tony never _told_ him –

"And finally he gets it," Natasha says.

"I have to go," Steve says. He stands and pays and is out the door into the blinding sunshine in less than half a minute, but even that seems too long.

"Steve," Natasha says from behind him. He turns and she looks pensive, searching for something in his face that Steve doesn't understand. He waits, though, despite how the need to get to Tony is like prickles beneath his skin, because it's _Natasha_, and goodness only knows anything she says is probably going to be worth her weight in gold.

After a moment Natasha says, "You and Tony need to learn from each other. I can't just explain everything to you. But I will tell you this, because it's very important and I think neither of you will bring it up on your own. You _must_ talk with him about sex."

"Wha- Natasha!" Steve exclaims, strangled. His face is like a furnace.

"Steven," she says, not giving an inch. "A great many people think the only thing separating a marriage from any other kind of relationship is sex. I promise you're both already thinking about it. You _must_ talk to him about it, Steve. That's all I can tell you, but – nothing will start to get better unless you speak with him about sex."

"I – I – I –" Steve splutters.

After a moment her lips quirk in a tiny smile. She leans up on tiptoes and kisses his cheek. "You're a good man, Steven Rogers. Now go make sure your husband knows that, too."

"Thank you, Tasha," he says. That's not enough, though, so he sweeps her up in a hug, laughing when he pulls her clear off the ground and she kicks her feet in the air. "You're a good friend."

"Of course I am," she says, laughing back, as he sets her down again. Her hair is ever-so-slightly mussed, one bright red curl resting against her cheek. "Now get along with you."

"Yes'm," he says, tipping his hat to her respectfully.

He nearly gallops home – would gallop, except that'd be unfair to Star, and Steve can use all the time he can get to better plan this out – so he contents himself with a slow trot.

So many things have suddenly clicked into place in his head he's having trouble sorting through all of them, because it's like his brain wants to think every single thought at once. 'Talk to him,' Natasha said, but these last few days have proven that talking to Tony is near impossible; since the moment he met Tony, all Steve's wanted to do is write Tony _about_ Tony, but that makes no sense because the Tony that wrote to Steve and the Tony that stood in front of him were the same person, except in Steve's head they're _not_; how excited Steve was when he saw a letter from Tony this morning; the point of letters is to communicate with people who are far away, and Tony feels so far beyond his reach Steve's sick with longing.

But Steve can fix it now. He knows what to do. The answer's so obvious he feels a fool for not thinking of it sooner, but he's so elated he doesn't even mind.

They wrote to each other for near to a year before Steve asked Tony to marry him. Their letters had been relatively short at first, before they got to know each other, but by the time Steve asked and Tony said yes they were regularly writing pages and pages to each other. They'd written about everything under the sun – or so Steve had thought. He's realizing, now, that when it came to what their life together would be like, neither of them ever went into specifics. Steve told Tony about the farm and the town and the mountain in general, and the sort of things Steve does, but he didn't say much about what _Tony_ could do. Things like cooking and cleaning he'd mentioned, but even in his letters Steve had told Tony he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. Tony had said he'd like to try, and that he'd try to learn as much as possible before he arrived.

At the time, back when Steve still pictured Tony as a destitute young man, Steve thought he meant he'd try his hand at things like learning how to cook dishes that'd be a staple on a farm. But now Steve's realizing that not only did he never actually tell Tony what dishes those _are_, it's also likely Tony meant he'd start trying to learn how to cook in the first place.

He makes it back to the farm and tries not to rush too much settling Star. She got him home quick and easy, and deserves more than him simply taking off her saddle and running into the house.

And yes, there was a lot of detail in their letters. Steve knows some of Tony's favorite musical pieces so well it's as though Steve's been to the concerts himself. Tony could probably pick out Steve's favorite art supplies without thinking twice, Steve spent that long rambling on about the differences between this and that sort of paper or charcoal. But details about how much space Tony would have for his clothes, or whether Tony prefers cow's or goat's milk, or laundry? Not a single thing.

He should have realized, he berates himself. He should have realized the very moment Mr Jarvis first introduced Tony and Steve was confronted with the fact that everything he thought he knew about Tony's life and situation was wrong. If it was possible for him to be so mistaken about that, how could he have ever thought they both understood every minute detail of what their life together was going to be like? _Could_ be like?

As expected, Tony's nowhere to be found when Steve goes inside, and for the first time since Tony started hiding in his room Steve's glad and hopes he stays in there just a bit longer. He's about to run up to his room and lock himself in too when he realizes that no, he wants this to be exactly like any other time he ever wrote Tony, and aside from those few letters he wrote right after a nightmare he always wrote Tony at the kitchen table, so that's where he sits to write now.

He doesn't let himself think about it too much; if he writes something foolish or stupid or embarrassing or untrue he can just re-write it. Better to get everything down now while he's thinking about it.

> Dear Tony,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well. If there's anything in particular you'd like me to make or leave out for you to eat, please let me know. You can just leave me a note. I keep the stationary in the desk beneath the window, and I just bought some more today so there's plenty, so please help yourself. Use it for whatever you like.
> 
> Night before last I re-read all of your letters, Tony. I know it sounds foolish but I miss you. I miss writing to you, and I miss getting your letters. I've been at loose ends for the past few days, because I keep wanting to write to you about this huge, amazing thing that happened to me, except then I remember that I don't got to write to tell you about it because you were there. You were it.
> 
> I realized something when I was re-reading your letters. Before I thought that you and I had written each other about everything, and I thought that I had told you so much about myself and about life here, but I see now I didn't ever tell you what your place here could be. I told you about my day, but never about what yours might be. I told you the things I do for myself, but I never told you what I will do for you. And I never... I never explained what I expect from you, either.
> 
> Telling you what I expect from you is the most difficult thing, Tony, so I know I should start there. I've been staring at the page for ten minutes trying to find what to say. It's difficult though because I just want to say what I've been saying: I don't expect anything from you at all. Natasha tells me though that that isn't going to be enough for you to feel comfortable, so I've got to say something else.
> 
> All right. I'll do this first: I'll tell you what has to be done in order for you and I to eat and keep a roof over our heads. Every day of the year the stock has to be fed and watered in the morning and at night. When it's warm they need to be let out in the morning and rounded up in the evening. In addition to Star and the goat and chickens, I also have a hog that lives in the woods rather than the barn, and every now and again I put out some feed for him. Come autumn certain of the animals need to be slaughtered, and there's a lot of work goes into preserving the meat and using as much of them as we can.
> 
> The vegetables out back and in the further field need to be tended though not often; the bigger weeds need pulling and I need to make sure the plants get enough water. I eat from both vegetable patches all summer, and in autumn these too need to be harvested and preserved.
> 
> There isn't enough flat land hereabouts to grow wheat or a great deal of corn, so these I buy or trade for in town. The same goes for sugar, coffee, and salt, and obviously anything that can't be made here, like cloth and paper and anything metal.
> 
> Days when I'm home I take care of the animals in the morning and evening, and most of the rest of my day is spent either preparing food or mending clothes and tools. The rest of my time is spent drawing, sometimes reading, and often visiting.
> 
> Most of our monetary income comes from pelts and furs. There are a few of us in town who hunt and trap, and we do a good job of not over-hunting anywhere. Unfortunately that means that sometimes I have to be away from home for days or even weeks at a time, since I have to go so far away. I'm sorry.
> 
> <strike>I'm also</strike> <strike>I know it's foolish but</strike> <strike>what would you think of</strike> <strike>I can probably make some more money if</strike> <strike>I'm not very good but</strike> This is a bit embarrassing, but I'm also going to try to sell some woodcarvings. I'll work on them over the winter and see if I can sell them back east come spring. I'm not sure I'll be any good at it, though <strike>and I hope you won't laugh</strike>
> 
> I'm able to do all of this on my own, though. Well, and with help from my friends, of course, but I help them in turn. But I've managed like this on my own for years, Tony.
> 
> That's what I mean when I say that you don't have to do anything. I can keep us fed and housed and clothed. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to worry about anything. I'll take care of everything. – <strike>I'll take care of you</strike> I'll take care of you. Any way you want to fill your time is fine. If you want to order a lot of books or art supplies or sheet music or anything then so long as we have the money for it, it's yours.
> 
> Reading this back to myself, I can understand why it's confusing. Why did I advertise for an omega if I don't need help with the farm? That's where the root of some of my own confusion comes from as well, I think. I must've had a reason to advertise, which means there was something I wanted or expected from whoever answered. If I'd just met you the normal way and started courting you, it would be so much easier to understand when I say I don't expect anything from you at all.
> 
> I've been thinking about how to say this for hours, and the best I can do is tell the truth, and the truth is what I want changed. What I wanted when I took out the advertisement and what I want now are different. It's as simple as that. I took the advertisement because, quite honestly, I was lonely. And I'm doing well for myself, but it's only for myself. I don't like living just for me. I like being useful to other people, and supporting myself is all well and good but I'd rather support a family. So that's what I wanted when I advertised. A companion and a partner.
> 
> But that changed, Tony. You started writing to me, and suddenly it was as though we'd met and begun courting the usual way. I didn't ask you to marry me because I wanted a companion or a partner, someone to talk to and to feed the chickens when I'm away from home. I asked you to marry me because I wanted to marry you. You, Tony, not just anyone.
> 
> I didn't want to tell you before why I advertised, because I was worried it would make you feel obligated to do things you don't want to do. I can't bear the thought of you speaking with me only because you think it's the price for the roof over your head. That's not how it is at all, Tony. I'm not sure why you find it so difficult to believe me, and I'm not sure why I find it so difficult to explain, but I swear to you before all the gods that all I want is for you to be happy.
> 
> I hope now you truly understand: you don't have to do anything. You don't ever have to come out of your room again, you never have to speak to me for the rest of your life if you don't want to. The fact of your existence is all it takes to make me care about you. So long as you're here I get to work for you and take care of you, and that makes my life more full and rich than I ever could have dreamed.
> 
> And if you ever want to leave, Tony, I'll still care about you and help you any way that I can. I'll pay for tickets or room and board or anything at all you might need, no matter where you want to go. If these last few days have taught me anything, it's that no matter how much I may want to make you happy, I don't know how. The only person who knows how to make you happy is you, Tony, so whatever you ask me to do I'll do.
> 
> I wanted to end this letter here. I've nearly signed my name half a dozen times. But Natasha, who as you know is far more wise than I, went to great lengths to impress upon me the fact that there is one more thing I must absolutely tell you, no matter how uncomfortable it makes either of us.
> 
> I can't bring myself to write the words. I've tried, and I can't. The most I can say is this: <strike>I truly have no expectations.</strike> <strike>The idea that you might think</strike> <strike>the thought that you might ever</strike> <strike>if anyone ever touched you when you were less than enthusiastic I'd break</strike>
> 
> The room is yours. Any of the rooms are yours. We can even trade if you like; the one I have now is bigger than the one you're in. It's yours for as long as you want it. It's yours for the rest of your life, till the end of time, and I will never, ever make any presumptions upon it.
> 
> You don't have to answer. I only hope that you've read this far; I think this may be the longest letter I've ever written, to you or anyone. But don't think you have to respond. You don't. You truly don't have to do anything, Tony.
> 
> Yours,  
-Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sending and receiving physical letters in the actual mail is, no lie or exaggeration, one of the best feelings in all the world. It may seem silly and pointless, but it won't once you try it. Do you have a friend who doesn't live with you? What about a relative? Seriously. Write someone a letter.
> 
> If you don't have someone you'd be comfortable writing to, please consider writing a letter or a holiday card for the Rainbow Cards Project. RCP sends letters and cards from queer people to our queer brothers, sisters, and siblings who are alone, to remind all of us that in our queer family we're here for each other.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve wakes the next day hazy with anticipation. He tumbles out of bed, washes and dresses before he's even fully awake, he's so eager to get downstairs and so hopeful that Tony will be there.

Tony's not there. The fire is still banked, the windows still shuttered, the table and chairs still exactly how Steve left them last night. He's disappointed until he opens the shutters on the window over the writing desk and then closes them right back up again. Of course Tony isn't out of his room; the sun's not even started rising yet. It's still full night. He's definitely still upstairs sleeping. The sky is dark, the stars still out, the dew falling invisible and cold, and Tony's upstairs beneath this roof, safe and warm in his bed, sleeping peaceful, and maybe he sleeps sprawled out and graceful or maybe he sleeps curled up with only his hair poking out from a mound of blankets and maybe his cheeks flush pink and warm and -

Steve slams down on that thought before it can go any further, but now he's jittery and aching and feeling guilty, so he needs something to do. It's too early yet to wake the stock, and though he could light a lamp and sketch for a while he knows that'll give him too much time to think and not enough physical activity to burn off the energy zinging beneath his skin.

He looks at the clock again. It'll start getting light in about an hour, likely. That ought to be long enough.

So he does what they used to make him and Bucky (and the rest of the troops, of course) do in the Army to keep fit: he puts on his boots and a light shirt, leaves the house and locks up behind himself, and takes off at a run. He doesn't do this nearly every morning but he's done it enough to know the way, and to know that by the time he gets far enough to not have the path memorized the sky will be light.

It doesn't take long for him to tire this time. He starts thinking about it, and realizes how long it's been since he's run. The only reason does is when he wakes from a nightmare, and for a while now he hasn't needed to go for a run after waking and writing to Tony instead. Huh.

Nothing on his usual route has changed enough to throw him off, though, so he keeps at it and is nearly back to the house when the sky's light enough to be called dawn. There's a river - narrow but deep - downhill from the cabin, and Steve ends his run there, stripping down and jumping in. The shock of the cold water is breathtaking, is enough to make him think for a moment that he's died, and yet when he breaks the surface the air feels colder still.

A quarter hour later he makes his way back to the house. The run and the swim did what he wanted and cleared his head, but it's not till he's about to round the barn that he realizes he cleared his head a little _too_ well: he somehow managed to stop thinking about this whole mess with Tony long enough to nearly traipse up to the house completely naked. He ducks against the wall of the barn, even though there's no way Tony'd be able to see him from the house or the yard, heart beating wildly and face heating with shame. He looks down at his clothes in his arms. The jeans will be far too difficult to pull on over his still-wet skin, and he has to wear the boots the rest of the day no matter what and doesn't want them damp.

In the end he puts on his under-drawers and his shirt, then dashes back to the house quick and furtive as a thief. Tony's not on the first floor so Steve closes the door quietly, then runs fast as he can on tip-toe across the room and up the stairs. He doesn't breathe until he's safely behind his bedroom door.

Feeling foolish, five minutes later and fully dry and combed and dressed, he cautiously pokes his head out of his room again. Tony's door is closed, and Steve can't hear him moving anywhere in the house.

By the time Steve's taken care of the stock and had his own breakfast there's still no sign of Tony. Steve hems and haws for a while, puttering about the house and hoping to hear Tony's tread on the stairs. Halfway through the morning he finds himself sitting at the writing desk again. He's got a line of communication now, one-sided though it may yet be, and he doesn't want to let it close. He'll write Tony another note, but just a short one, with nothing that may read like begging for him to come down.

Steve pulls a sheet of paper off the stack and something flutters onto the desk.

It's a piece of paper. Torn, just the corner, and in handwriting Steve knows better than his own and adores more than his own life all it says is "I'm afraid."

Without even thinking about it Steve writes on a fresh piece of paper, "Tell me what you're afraid of and I'll protect you."

Trying not to stomp he marches upstairs and slides the note under Tony's door. Halfway back down the stairs he realizes that makes it sound like he'll only protect Tony if Tony confides in him, so he gets another piece of paper and writes, "I'll protect you from anything no matter what." That one goes under Tony's door too.

Steve goes to bed that night still with not sight nor sound of Tony, but he expected nothing less. Tony's afraid of something, and it's finally occurring to Steve that Tony's been afraid of something this whole time. Steve doesn't know what it is, but he hopes that when enough time's gone past for Tony to see that he doesn't have to be afraid he'll tell Steve what's the matter.

The next day Steve's just finished replacing two boards on the barn that've begun to rot when he hears a soft noise behind him. It shouldn't startle him like a gunshot but it does, and suddenly taut as a bowstring he whirls around.

Standing in the sunshine and staring at him is Tony.

Steve's throat seizes up. His hands clench so hard it hurts. It's worse even than when first the beautiful omega stepped into the sunshine on the train platform and Steve realized he was Tony. He's never been so nervous or unsure in all his life.

Tony says, "Um."

The sound of his voice knocks Steve out of his head. He realizes that Tony's standing perfectly still, too, and rigidly straight, his eyes wide and frightened.

Right. That's right. Tony's afraid of something. Afraid of Steve? Gods he hopes not, but it's beginning to look that way.

Soft as he knows how Steve says, "Hello, Tony."

Tony smiles, then frowns, then smiles again but it looks more forced, then grimaces and looks away. His hands open and close at his sides and he shifts on his feet.

Steve doesn't know what else to say. That was all he's got. He starts half a dozen sentences but can't get any of them out, and Tony looks at him helplessly, and it'd be funny if it weren't so pitiful.

At last Tony interrupts Steve's stammering and says, "Will you show me the ash tree? The one with the face?"

"Yes!" Steve nearly hollers. "Yes, sure, I'd - I'd love to, that'd be great, um, it's this way -"

It's really not a terribly interesting tree, but it is funny how some of the knots and broken branches on the trunk look like a smirking old man with bushy eyebrows and but one eye. From there Steve takes him down to the river, and then through the trees to the bigger field where most of their crops are grown (like Steve told Tony in his letter, there isn't much flat land hereabouts, and there wasn't room near the house to grow enough crops, and this is the next flat place), and to the bramble patch. They eat blackberries and raspberries and the color stains Tony's fingers and lips and Steve does his best not to stare. They didn't bring anything they could carry any berries back in, and before Steve can do something foolish Tony says he'll come back tomorrow with a basket. Then he snaps his mouth shut and he and Steve both look away, like neither of them was sure before that Tony'd be here come morning.

The moment is broken by Steve's stomach gurgling loudly, and Tony laughs. It's breathy and nervous but still a laugh, and Steve could float right off the ground.

"Guess berries aren't that filling," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Tony smiles at him and says, "We should get you home and fed before you start gnawing on the leaves, too."

It's not very funny but it's easy and a _relief,_ and Steve throws back his head and laughs.

They start walking back towards the house and Tony goes quiet again. This time Steve doesn't try to break the silence, unsure if Tony's quiet because he's afraid or just because he has nothing to say.

Just as the house comes into view between the trees Tony blurts out, "I'd like to try. To work towards that. With you."

"Yes," says Steve. "Anything you want." A pause. "Um, work towards what, exactly?"

"Well, all right, so you made an excellent point," Tony says so quickly it's like he thinks he's got to say a hundred words in half as many seconds, "a truly excellent point that I don't know what _you_ think a good, a good marriage is, and you don't know what _I_, and honestly, like really honestly I don't, I don't, I don't think, I don't know if I'lleverwantyouinmyroom but everything other than that I'd like to at least _try_ and -"

"Yes," Steve says, and he didn't mean to interrupt but Tony stops walking and looks at him like he's desperate for _something_ even though Steve can't for the life of him figure out _what._ "Yes, yes to all of that, I am - I am very in favor of that."

Tony nods but he looks close to panicking, and one more time Steve's reminded that _Tony is afraid of something._

So one more time Steve makes his body language calm and open and non-threatening. "Tony? We - we have time for this, don't we? We don't have to build the perfect marriage and the perfect home all in one afternoon, right?"

"Yep, yep, no, yep that's true, that is a true statement, yes," Tony babbles.

One second of thought and Steve says, "If you want to go to your room I'll bring you some supper later?"

"Right yes thanks for that I appreciate it bye!" And Tony bolts.

Literally bolts. Steve's not sure he's ever seen someone run that fast who wasn't actively being shot at. It's another thing that would be funny if it weren't so sad. Steve reflects that one of the most important things to do to get close to someone is to make sure they know they can always leave if they want to.

When Steve does take a tray up that evening he knocks and simultaneously opens his mouth to say he'll leave the tray on the floor outside the door, but then the door is flung open so quickly Steve nearly jumps.

Tony's standing there, looking like he's on the verge of shaking out of his own skin, hair wild and hands constantly moving, and he only glances at Steve's face for a moment. "Steve, yes, hi, hello."

"Hi, Tony," Steve says, smiling. He holds out the tray and Tony eyes it warily for a minute before snatching it out of Steve's hands. Some of the water sloshes over the edge of the cup but Tony ignores it.

"All right," Steve says. "Hope you like it. If there's anything you'd like to change or if you want seconds just let me know." Tony frowns at him and Steve smiles and turns to go downstairs.

"Steve," Tony says. Steve stops and turns to face him fully, but doesn't come any closer. Tony fidgets for what feels like ages, darting glances at Steve's face and then away, before he finally says, "Maybe, um, maybe we could eat dinner together downstairs? Um?"

"I'll cook," Steve says immediately. "Day after tomorrow, perhaps?"

"All right sounds good thanks for dinner!" Tony closes the door in Steve's face and Steve walks away smiling.


	5. Chapter 5

It's raining. The words aren't adequate for what's happening, the same way it isn't adequate to call the night sky kind of big, but nevertheless those are the only words Steve has: it's raining.

It rained yesterday, too – normal rain, though, the sort people think of when they say 'rain' – and then the heavy rains started last night, and it's been a downpour that hasn't let up ever since. The river swole up and though Steve and Tony's house is perfectly safe (the river passes below the house and down a steep incline, so even when it floods it doesn't get much closer to them) not everyone else is. Clint's sheriff this year but there's far too much to do for just one person, so Steve's been riding around with him and Natasha and Thor all day, doing what they can.

The biggest problem is that the bridge just outside town washed out. Sam, being the blacksmith, has been there since before what would have been sunup if the sun could be seen. Now he's got everything ready, and the five of them work together to get the makeshift bridge in place. Frigga's with them, helping as she can, and Steve knows she'll be the first one over the bridge once it's up, racing off to the few homes that can't be got to without crossing the river with her doctor's bag to help anyone who's been hurt.

It would be pleasant if it weren't for the rain. Steve enjoys riding, enjoys being with his friends, enjoys going out to all the homes in and around Big Eden and seeing everyone, enjoys hard work and helping out. Today, though, every single one of those things is made miserable by the goddamn _rain_.

Steve's been out in rain that soaked through his clothes before, but this is something else. He's been thrown fully-clothed into deep rivers and come out less wet than this. Even his saddle is wet beneath him, which is its own special hell all on its own.

He's spent the whole day daydreaming about Tony. What else? Things have been stilted and awkward since the day Tony first sought him out of his own volition, but now they're both trying. More importantly, probably, they both _know_ they're trying. They're working towards something now.

Tony's spent a lot more time outside his room lately, though he still retreats there frequently. He spends a lot of time outside the house, as well, though he seems somewhat fastidious and has managed to not get terribly dirty yet without making it look like that's on purpose. It's endearing.

So when Steve gets home today – when he finally gets out of this miserable, _miserable_ downpour – Tony might be about. There'll be a fire lit for sure, and he keeps envisioning Tony curled up in one of the armchairs in front of it, warm and toasty-dry, with a book or maybe the one letter from Jarvis he likes to read and re-read. Maybe he'll even be extra sweet and have the kettle near the flames to keep it warm for Steve. There won't be any supper, of course, since neither of them know what time Steve will finally get home; Steve had made sure to warn Tony he'd likely be out quite late.

But the hours drag interminably, damply on, and the later it grows the less hope Steve has that Tony'll still be up. The makeshift bridge gets erected, Frigga makes her way quickly across it as soon as Sam says it's safe, and the other five of them follow hot on her heels. As they feared, there's a lot of work to be done – trees have fallen and blocked roads and crushed parts of houses, people have slipped in the mud or been thrown from horseback and gotten hurt, children are coughing in the cold and the damp.

By the time Steve turns his face homeward it's well past what would have been sunset if the sun still exists out there, pitch-black and still pouring. He wants to get home as soon as possible, but of course the journey is going to take at least twice as long as normal if Steve doesn't want to risk breaking one of Star's legs or his own fool neck. At least he knows Tony will have left the fire burning, and _maybe_ he'll have left the kettle on the hearth.

He still daydreams about Tony, of course, but now the images getting him through the mud of the road and the water cascading off the trees are thoughts of Tony warm and snug in his bed. Steve can't wait to get inside and out of the rain, and dry off, and get something cold to eat and hot to drink and he really can't wait for the moment when he goes upstairs to bed, and he can stand for one moment outside Tony's door knowing Tony's safe and dry and _close_. Even in the midst of the deluge the thought makes him almost smile with borrowed warmth, and he knows that'll be enough for him. More than enough.

_Finally_ he gets back to the house. He gets Star fed and settled. Clomps wearily up the steps onto the porch. Sighs in relief at no longer being under the rain. There's light leaking from the edges of the curtains and around the door – Tony left the fire burning for him. He takes off his hat and tips the water off the brim. Reaches for the door, thinks again, takes off his boots and tips the water out of those, too. Holds his hat and his boots in one hand, because he does have to take them inside to dry by the fire or he'll have to get new ones, and opens the door.

"Steve!" Tony cries.

Steve stumbles to a halt and stands gaping like a fish. Tony rushes over to him and he automatically closes the door behind himself to keep Tony warm and dry.

"Steve! Gods, I was half an hour away from going out to find you myself! I was convinced you were drowned in a ditch somewhere."

The fire is burning cheerfully in the grate. Tony was, indeed, curled up beneath a blanket in the armchair with a book. But there's also a pile of pillows and blankets in front of the hearth, and there's a chair and some things Steve can't quite distinguish rigged up next to the fire with what looks like every towel they own draped over it. Something in the air smells absolutely delicious.

Tony stops his headlong rush two paces from Steve, and Steve is still so deeply shocked he doesn't register that he's a bit disappointed. Tony eyes him up and down for a moment, hand rubbing his chin and head tipped to the side, before he nods to himself and gestures to something beside Steve. He glances where Tony is looking and sees the bathtub next to the door.

With a nod, Tony steps up to him. "I had thought we could use it for your damp clothes, but I kind of underestimated how wet you'd be. I think you should probably just stand in it to get undressed."

It takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do Steve starts towards the tub and then stops when he remembers he's still holding his hats and boots. How is he going to get undressed if he's still holding them.

"Wow, you really are tired, aren't you," Tony says, and it sounds like he's trying not to laugh. Steve only realizes he was staring at his boots and frowning when he looks at Tony's glowing, smiling face and feels himself smile back.

"Come on, you, before you catch something awful and die." Tony takes the hat and boots from him, then holds out a hand to help Steve into the tub. The only reason Steve takes it is for the excuse to touch him, but it's a good thing he does since the world tips alarmingly when he lifts his foot to step over the edge.

Steve tries to undress himself but his fingers feel stiff and frozen and swollen, and he thinks his hands might be shaking. The tub is bigger than most out here, actually big enough for Steve to stretch out his legs when he's sitting down, so there's room to let his sopping wet clothes fall without leaving them strewn at Steve's clumsy feet.

Tony comes around in front of him and sees Steve pawing ineffectually at the buttons to his shirt. His eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirk charmingly, and he holds his hands up and catches Steve's eye. Steve lets his hands fall to his sides and Tony makes quick work of his shirt. Honestly Steve wishes it took him longer to unbutton it, untuck it from his pants and slide it from his shoulders. Steve feels cold but doesn't realize how frozen and prickly his skin is until he can barely feel the brush of Tony's fingers, needle-sharp points of heat that are gone before he can really feel them.

"These too?" Tony asks, looking at Steve but with his hands closer to Steve's pants. The first truly lucid thought Steve's had in probably hours enters his head, and it's something about the fact that he and Tony are living together, and are working towards a good marriage, and Steve trusts him, and his hands are shaking anyway, and there's something in there he can't quite catch about comfort and things that have nothing to do with sex. He sees some of this – at the very least, the thought that Tony's probably going to see all this at some point anyway – flit across Tony's face, so once again Steve lets his hands fall to his sides and nods.

Steve doesn't have time for prurient thoughts when Tony quickly opens his pants and starts tugging them down his legs, too busy flinging his arms out and trying to keep his balance as the wet cloth sucks onto his also-wet skin and won't let go.

"All right, shoulder, come on," Tony says when he kneels to pull the pants past Steve's knees, and Steve puts his hands on Tony's shoulders while they somehow manage to get the soaking wet pants over Steve's feet without him toppling over.

When Tony stands again he takes Steve's left arm and hand, and Steve leans on him more heavily than he should as he peels off his socks and then his under-drawers. He doesn't fall over this time either, and when he lets go of the under-drawers and they fall into the tub with a splat Tony laughs.

"Gods, even your underwear is dripping wet!" Tony laughs. Steve chuckles, too, and Tony makes sure he's steady on his feet before darting away and then rushing back.

He gives one of the hot towels to Steve and takes the other one himself, drying Steve's back and crouching down to dry his calves. Steve has the towel over his face when Tony does that, which is probably for the best.

"All right, come on," Tony says, taking both towels and dropping them into the tub. As Steve steps out of the tub and onto the wonderfully dry floor Tony flings a warm blanket over his shoulders and leads him over to the fire. Steve half-sits and half-falls into the pillows and blankets spread before it and folds his legs in front of himself, fidgeting and tugging blankets and pillows to get comfortable. Tony fetches a pitcher of water, and Steve had honestly thought he'd never want to see water again, but at the sight of it he realizes he is _parched_.

The moment Steve's settled and has a glass of water Tony puts three rods with slices of bread on them over the fire to toast, then hurries over to the table. Steve just sits there, staring at the toasting bread, trying to wrap his mind around what's happening. Tony comes back and takes his glass, then throws the last of the warm towels over his head and dries his hair. It. Is. Heaven.

By the time Tony's done drying his hair the toast is the perfect color, and before Steve can even reach for it Tony plucks all three pieces off the toasting rods and drops them on a plate that's already got sliced cheese on it, which he then hands to Steve.

Steve just sits there and blinks at it. He can't do anything else. It's just – kind of overwhelming.

"I can heat you up some stew too, if you like," Tony says after a moment, sounding almost unsure, "but I wasn't sure if your hands would be shaking so I didn't know how you'd feel about spoons."

Steve laughs, can't help it, and tips his head back to look at Tony and says, "This is perfect."

"Are you sure?" Tony asks, actually wringing his hands. What's gotten into him? He was so sure of himself a moment ago. It's like now that he's not actively doing something he's remembered he's supposed to be nervous. "I can – I mean there's stew, like I said, or – Should I have got more blankets? I can still –"

"Tony," Steve says. Tony's mouth clicks shut in the middle of a word and he looks at Steve steadily, not blinking or looking away, but he's hunched over and partially turned away, his hands wringing together, and ye gods, it looks like he's waiting for Steve to – to what? Tell him he did something wrong? What the hell?

It's the realization that Tony really does think Steve is going to berate him or say something cruel to him that gives Steve the kick in the pants to tell him, "No one's ever taken care of me like this, Tony. This is the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me."

For a long moment Tony doesn't move at all, then all at once he seems to realize Steve's telling the truth. "Oh," he says, looking away, but Steve can see the slight blush on his cheeks, the slight smile on his lips, and Steve's heart flips in his chest.

"I feel greedy even asking, but there's just one more thing that could make this any better," Steve says. Tony whips around towards him, apprehensive again.

Steve holds out one of the pieces of toast. "Eat something?"

It takes less time this time for Tony to realize he's serious. A smile – that looks far too little like humor or joy and far too much like relief – steals across Tony's face.

He flops down next to Steve, atop the pillows and covers, and Steve holds out the edge of the blanket to him.

Tony laughs and presses his hand to Steve's arm to make him put it down. "Trust me, I am fine out here, thanks. I don't think you realize yet just how hot it is right now."

"Oh, I realize," Steve says, passing a piece of toast with two pieces of cheese over to Tony. "I'm not sure you realize how good it feels."

"I can imagine," Tony says. "What did you have to do out there?"

Steve tells him all about it as they munch their way through those three pieces of toast, and then four more. For fear of overthinking things and getting tongue-tied, Steve doesn't let himself think about the fact that everything he's saying is exactly what he would've written Tony if Tony wasn't here, and this is the first time it's like the Tony of the letters is sitting right beside him. Steve's giddy with getting to hear Tony's answers as soon as he speaks.

All at once a yawn nearly splits Steve's face in half, right in the middle of a word, and Tony laughs quietly. "Bedtime, I think," he says.

"Didn't realize how tired I was," Steve mumbles. By the time he's got himself on his feet Tony's put their dishes in the sink and banked the fire.

They walk upstairs, Steve in front of Tony (he doesn't want Tony to think he's staring at his ass and honestly isn't sure he'd be able to help it if Tony were on the stairs in front of him, so best to just go up first himself). When the reach the top they go their separate ways, and it has _never_ been more difficult or painful than it is now. Especially when Tony tugs on Steve's elbow, and as soon as he turns Tony dumps a bundle of too-heavy towels into Steve's arms, and he realizes Tony even thought to heat some bricks for Steve to put at the end of his bed.

"Thank you, Tony," Steve says quietly.

Tony waves it off and turns away – then all at once he turns back, darts forward, pulls Steve down by the blanket he's still wrapped in, leans up on his tip-toes and for one moment presses their lips together.

\- And _then_ Tony flees into his room and closes the door, and Steve just stands there grinning like a dope with his fingers pressed against his warm, warm lips.


	6. Chapter 6

A week after the rains let up Steve and Tony drive into town. Steve returned the buggy he'd borrowed from Clint weeks ago, so this time they go in the much more – ah, rural – two-wheeled dogcart Steve usually uses. Tony doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, looking up at the trees and down the mountain as they go, exclaiming over everything he sees. It's a good thing Star's such a steady creature and knows the way already, since Steve barely pays attention to driving, instead staring besottedly at Tony as he appears to try to keep himself from bouncing and chattering in excitement.

He quiets when they get into town, and Steve's glad the first person they meet is Maria. She's the postmistress (and the closest thing the town has to a lawyer), and though she greets them when they enter the post office she doesn't interrogate Tony the way Steve's worried everyone else will.

There are no letters or telegrams for either of them, and Tony doesn't hide his disappointment so well as he thinks he does. For his part, Steve is happy that he's _not_ disappointed himself – he doesn't feel like the man beside him is a stranger, anymore, and he's no longer subconsciously waiting for letters from his Tony.

"All right," Steve says, trying to draw Tony out of his sad silence as they exit the post office, "we can go to the store, or the saloon, and we ought to call on Frigga while we're here. But we don't _have_ to do any of that, we can go in whatever order you like and we can leave as soon as you want to." Steve's learned his lesson well and tries his hardest to always lay out everything clearly, even the things he thinks are obvious.

Tony's looking straight forward across the street, and he takes a breath and squares his shoulders, sticking his chin out defiantly. It breaks Steve's heart all over to see him putting on a brave face even in front of him.

"Maybe we should go," Steve starts, "we can come back tomorrow or –"

"No," Tony interrupts him, which might be a first. "No, we're here now, people have already seen us, and we're nearly out of flour. There's no point going all the way home empty-handed and coming all the way back another day. We'll go everywhere you said."

"Tony," Steve says softly, "I know you were hoping for a letter –"

In yet another first, Tony glares at him. "So distract me."

After a moment Steve says, "All right," and leads him over to the general store, since he's pretty sure that'll be the most distracting place.

"Hello, Steve!" Jane says as soon as soon as they enter. If Steve thinks she smiles when she saw him, it's nothing to the way her face lights up when she sees Tony.

"You must be Tony," she says loudly, tipping her head back a bit, and there's a clatter from somewhere in the back room. She laughs and comes around the counter, holding out her hand. "I'm Jane. Welcome to Big Eden. We're all so excited to meet you."

She hasn't even made it over to them before Darcy comes barreling out of the back room. "_Tony?_" she cries. "Did you say Steve finally brought – oh, you're Tony!"

Jane smiles indulgently and lets Darcy rush past her to shake Tony's hand, before following more sedately herself. Tony smiles and shakes their hands and just laughs quietly when Darcy asks a hundred questions too quickly for him to answer any of them.

A little while later Sam just _happens_ to wander in as well, and after piling Steve and Tony's purchases in the dogcart the whole lot of them troop over to Frigga's. Something in Steve's stomach settles, just a little, when she smiles warm and kind, and rather than shaking Tony's hand instead cups his face in her palms and says, "Such a kind-hearted boy. And so handsome!" and Tony blushes right to the roots of his hair.

She gives Tony a hug and, likely sensing how pleased but flustered Tony must be, fusses at him for being too skinny and sends the lot of them to Brunnhilde's to feed him up. As they're walking Steve hears the train rumble and screech into the station, and unable to quell the impulse he ducks his head towards Tony and says too quietly for everyone else to hear, "Do you remember when we met?" As though that moment were special to anyone but Steve, two people meeting on a train platform like thousands of others do every day – as though that were their _first_ meeting, when they'd already been speaking to each other for near to a year.

But Tony ducks his chin and smiles. "Of course," he whispers back, and Steve doesn't realize he's leaning closer until Darcy coos at them and says, "You two are _adorable._"

Steve rubs the back of his suddenly-hot neck self-consciously, but Tony just laughs.

The whole time, Tony's – not _shy_, exactly, because he meets people's eyes and doesn't cower, it's just that – he doesn't speak much until Steve's introduced him to someone and they've exchanged a few words. But the moment someone speaks to Tony directly, Tony smiles back and speaks to them.

Steve does _not_ realize how smooth and well-spoken and utterly _charming_ Tony is in person until he gets to watch him wind everyone around his little finger with just a few bashful smiles and clever words. Steve hasn't even spoken in the last half hour, too busy smiling besottedly at Tony and gleefully watching everyone else get pulled into Tony's orbit. He's been here barely two hours and already half the town's half in love with him.

Even though Steve's watching him so closely, the change that comes over Tony is so subtle and so unexpected it takes Steve a minute to realize it's happened. But his smile is more bright and less sincere than it was before, and he's shifted in his seat so he's closer to Steve but facing away, and he stops looking so steadily at whoever's speaking. A few moments more and Tony actually presses against Steve's side. He keeps looking around like he expects the walls to suddenly cave in.

A few more minutes of this and Steve decides that pleasant as everyone is being, and as good a time as Tony was having before, they've probably reached the point of having enough of crowds. Steve gently but firmly extracts them from everyone else, and to his relief no one raises a fuss. They all say goodbye warmly, though, and make Steve and Tony promise to come into town more often.

They make their way towards the post office, where they left Star and the dogcart. Tony wasn't cowering before, but he is now. He his eyes dart around and don't settle on anything, and he won't stop touching Steve. Not with his hands, but he walks so close it's a miracle their feet don't get tangled.

"What's wrong?" Steve asks him softly.

"Nothing, nothing," Tony says quickly, but he's not even looking at Steve, instead peering at every doorway they pass. "Just tired, I guess. Been a while since I've been around that many people at once, you know." He flashes a quick smile at Steve, but it's so forced it just makes Steve more worried.

The drive home is nearly silent. Tony won't stop looking behind them, but he also won't admit he thinks they're being followed. Steve keeps alert and aware of their surroundings but doesn't press for answers yet.

"Could you give me a hand putting this away?" Steve says before they even come to a stop in front of the house. "The dogcart's light but it's awkward trying to get it into the barn by myself."

"Of course," Tony says. He flicks a glance at Steve and his eyes are bright – he definitely knows Steve's just making up excuses to keep Tony in the barn with him while he puts away the dogcart and takes care of Star, but he doesn't call Steve on it.

As soon as they get into the house Steve locks the door. "Tony," Steve says, not sure how to ask. They've been so cautious of each other lately, and things have been going well but Steve has been trying so hard to avoid anything that might upset Tony (which is difficult since he doesn't know exactly what any of that _is_). It occurs to Steve that it might have been a good idea to practice bringing up difficult topics when they weren't already in a tense situation.

"Tony," Steve says again, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tony scoffs.

"I can't help if I don't know what's going on," Steve says.

For the second time today Tony glares at him. "I never said I need your help."

"I know," Steve says. "But I'm –" and then he doesn't know how to finish that sentence. I'm what? I'm your husband? That makes it sound like Steve only cares out of a sense of duty and isn't personally invested in Tony himself, which is completely untrue. I'm your alpha? Gods, that's even worse.

Before he can figure out what to say Tony laughs harshly, turning away and beginning to pace. "It's fine, Steve."

"No it's not."

"What makes you think there's anything wrong in the first place?" Tony demands, then bites his lip, realizing his mistake.

"You think – You're acting like you think someone followed us. You kept looking behind us the whole way back, and you're jumpy."

"Jumpy," Tony sneered. "That a technical term?"

"If you were angry at me," Steve says, "you'd be upstairs in your room, but you're still down here talking to me."

That brings Tony up short. He's facing away, but stops his pacing. For a long moment he just stands there, every line of him tense as a bowstring – and then he lets out a breath and sags, like all the air and willpower went out of him at once.

"It's fine, Steve," Tony says, rubbing a hand over his face, and he sounds so weary. "It really is nothing. I'm just being ridiculous."

"Well, who can you be ridiculous in front of if not me?" Steve asks, remembering something Natasha said during that fateful conversation.

That startles a laugh out of Tony, and the situation may still be potentially dire but Steve feels better.

"Shouldn't I be trying to impress you?" Tony says, but he's still smiling. "Making it seem like I'm self-reliant enough to be a good partner, and not a weak, hysterical omega?"

And _that_ startles a laugh out of Steve. "Tony, you might be the strongest, bravest person I've ever heard of, omega or alpha or anything at all."

Tony blinks.

"Steve," he says slowly, "I'm jumping at shadows. What about that says 'bravery' to you?"

"Pretty sure bravery is being afraid of something and doing it anyway, and here you are."

Because Tony is afraid – afraid of this place, and their marriage, and Steve himself – and yet.

Tony stares at him. After a few moments of silence Steve starts to worry.

"We can just –" Steve starts.

At the same time Tony blurts out, "I thought I saw one of Ezekiel's men!"

"Ezekiel?" Steve repeats automatically, then shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. You saw someone in town who might – who might want to hurt you?"

"_Thought_ I saw," Tony says, wringing his hands.

"The train," Steve says. "You got quite a little while after the train came in."

Looking miserable, Tony nods.

"All right," Steve says, mind unfurling like he's on a battlefield, ready to just batten down the hatches to withstand a siege, "the barn's already locked up tight. Come with me to get enough wood for the fire for the night, then I'll get the doors and windows down here and you go get the windows upstairs. I'll stay down here tonight –"

"What?" Tony squawks after what looks like a few failed attempts.

Steve's already in motion, moving the chairs away from the table so he can move it out of the way against the wall. "Give me a hand with this, will you?"

"What are you doing?"

"Moving the table," Steve says.

"I can see that. _Why_ are you moving the table?"

"So it doesn't block my line of sight from the fireplace to the door," Steve says.

"But that's – Steve!" Tony cries, gripping the edge of the table to keep it in place when Steve begins to move it. "I _told_ you I barely even saw him! It probably wasn't even him at all!"

"All right, first of all," Steve says, and he knows he sounds on the verge of terse but he's so determined to keep Tony safe he's falling into military habits, "if it _was_ him I'd want to take it seriously. And two, it doesn't – it really doesn't matter if it was him or not. What matters is that you don't feel safe right now, so we're going to do everything we can to change that."

"You do not have to go to all this trouble!"

"Of course I do, and it's no trouble at all."

"But I'm being silly," Tony insists, "Steve, seriously, I'll get over it, I just need a little time to calm down and get better –" "Sure," Steve says, "if that's what you want. And knowing you're safe will go a long way towards making you feel better, and I can help with that."

"It's not something you should have to help with!" Tony throws his hands in the air. "I said I'm just being silly! There is no reason at all to indulge me being hysterical, all right?"

"Tony," Steve says. While Tony spoke Steve moved around the table, and now he puts his hand on Tony's shoulder. It's the first time he's ever touched Tony without reaching out to him and then letting Tony complete the motion. Tony's shirt is soft and the fabric is fine; Steve can feel his warmth right through his clothes, and he can feel how he's trembling. Tony looks up at him with wide, wide eyes.

Steve says, "I am always going to do everything within my power to keep you safe and to help you feel safe."

Tony swallows. Steve takes his hand back, stops touching Tony, though it feels like cutting off his own hand to make himself do it, but he doesn't move away. Tony sounds like he's trying to sound flippant and failing when he says, "Don't you think that acting like we're about to fight off an entire army will just make it worse?"

Steve says, "Don't you think knowing we _could_ fight off an army will make it better?"

Tony doesn't react. His expression doesn't change, and his eyes don't leave Steve's face. After a moment the lack of reaction gets to Steve and he smiles awkwardly, then shuffles off to actually move the table. Tony just lets him and still doesn't move, doesn't even turn his head to watch.

What is Steve thinking, making dramatic declarations like that? He's in the middle of their rough little kitchen, not in a melodramatic novel or Shakespearean play or something. The back of his neck burns but he clenches his jaw; he stands by what he said and won't take it back.

"We can't –" Tony says, voice hoarse, "you can't just – that wouldn't, that won't –"

"What?" Steve says, then sighs. "What's the worst that's going to happen? Look, we'll have one night locked down tight, and I'll bed down in front of the fire and keep watch, and you can sleep snug and cozy in your room, and it'll be fine. Then tomorrow we can go into town – or you can stay here, but honestly I don't want to be away from you right now – and we'll ask around about any non-locals who've been here lately. It'll be all right, Tony."

Tony searches Steve's face. After a moment, voice filled with trepidation, he says, "All right, Steve."

True to his word Steve does bed down by the fire. By the time he's sure the house is completely secure and the rifle is ready and loaded, the sun has set. Tony'll be going up to bed at any moment. They had a quick supper a little while ago, but Steve didn't have much stomach for food and Tony only picked at his.

"I'm going to go grab a blanket," Steve says, quietly so as not to startle him. Tony nods absently, and Steve goes upstairs and closes his door. He takes longer than he needs to gathering up some blankets and debating whether or not he ought to bring the straw tick down as well, and sure enough he hears Tony come upstairs and close his own door. Does he feel guilty for not staying downstairs as well? Is that why he wouldn't leave the lower floor when Steve was down there? Steve sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

A few minutes later Steve – in his under-drawers and shirt, now – carries some bedding down the stairs and settles on the floor with his back to the fire and face towards the door. The floor isn't as comfortable as his own bed, but it's a sight more comfortable than a lot of places Steve's bunked down for the night. He's got two blankets and a pillow; he'll be fine.

There's the creak of a foot on floorboard at the top of the stairs. Steve turns, and after a moment Tony hesitantly comes down the steps. He's wrapped in a blanket. His feet are bare.

"Hello," Steve says.

Tony flashes him a smile, then looks down at his feet. Steve's at a loss. "Do you want something to eat?" Steve asks. Maybe Tony's finally hungry.

He huffs a laugh, though he still doesn't look at Steve. "No, I just – no. I, ah, I thought – that is, I mean..." he trails off and huffs again, running a hand through his hair. "Would you, would you mind if I stayed down here tonight, too? Not, not _for_ anything, I just thought –" He cuts himself off again and looks at Steve, shrugging helplessly.

"Of course," Steve says. "You can do anything you want. But it's not – I don't think it'll be very comfortable."

The smile Tony graces Steve with is small but real. "I'll be fine. I've definitely had worse."

And before Steve can accidentally press him for answers on what on earth _that_ means he goes back up the stairs. Isn't Tony rich, though? Or, well, _wasn't_ he rich before he married Steve? No one has clothes of the quality or quantity that Tony does who doesn't have money. So why would Tony be used to sleeping somewhere worse than a wooden floor?

"I can get the straw tick for you," Steve begins when Tony reappears, carrying a few more blankets and a pillow, but Tony shakes his head.

"It's fine, Steve, really."

All Tony does is wrap himself in the blankets, throw his pillow down, and flop down on the floor. He sets up so he's also lying with his back to the fire and his face towards the door, but he's turned so he and Steve are upside-down to each other, the tops of their heads half a foot apart and their feet towards opposite walls.

They're married. They live in the same house; eat at the same table and sleep beneath the same roof. They tend the same animals and harvest vegetables and fruit from the same fields. Walk through the same woods and ride in the same cart into the same town. They've talked about it and they've agreed that they want to work towards a real marriage. They're both here, and they're both staying, and they're both trying, and yet Steve still has to close his eyes and clench his hands against a wave of longing. Tony's frightened of something and Steve doesn't want to do a single thing to try Tony's tentative trust in him; would die before doing anything that would justify distrust.

Manhandling Tony without permission is something Steve would never do. All the same, it's desperately hard to not turn around the other way and gather Tony in his arms. It's nothing to do with sex and everything to do with protection and comfort. He wishes holding Tony would make Tony feel safe as much as it would make Steve feel like he's keeping him safe, but it won't. He knows it won't. The one and only physical touch Tony has ever deliberately initiated between them was the fleeting kiss at the top of the stairs, and even then Tony immediately ran away and got a locked door between them. He's never initiated a _casual_ physical touch between them, not even just a brush of fingers. Touching Tony won't make him feel protected and cared about; Steve keeping his hands to himself will. So keep his hands to himself he does.

"Makes me feel like a kid again," Steve says, needing some kind of distraction from how empty his arms feel. "Sleeping in front of the fire like this."

"No bed?" Tony asks.

Steve laughs. "No, we had a bed. But Bucky and I used to do this all the time; him sleeping at my house or me at his. We'd sleep on the floor and whisper all night "

"Sounds fun," Tony says with a smile in his voice.

Steve swallows. It always hurts to talk about Bucky, but he managed to say that whole thing without a catch in his voice. "It was."

"Ezekiel was," Tony says abruptly. "He wanted to marry me."

"Oh," says Steve, unsure of what to say to that.

"An alpha named Ty, too. Tiberius Stone. I'd known Zeke my whole life – our fathers were business partners, so we were practically raised together. And Ty was new in town, swept in from the Continent and decided to marry me."

Steve doesn't know how to ask what he really wants to know, so he settles for prompting, "And they both wanted to marry you?"

"Yeah," Tony says. "The vote was split on which one of them should get to have me. Zeke's father wanted me to marry him, my father wanted me to marry Ty, my mother wanted to figure out which of them had more money, the whole thing was a mess. Well. Behind closed doors it was a mess. As far as anyone else was concerned, though, it was the romance of the year."

Steve has no idea how this story ends. He knows where Tony ends up, but he doesn't know _why_. Did Tony chose one of them and lose him somehow? But that can't be right, because if he'd chosen Ezekiel he wouldn't be afraid of one of Ezekiel's men finding him, so perhaps he chose Tiberius? Oh gods, is Tiberius even still alive? What happened?

"Everyone kept talking about which of them I would chose," Tony says softly, "but no one recognized that if all I could chose was one of them or the other, that was no choice at all. No one asked me what I actually wanted."

"What did you want?" It's the obvious thing to ask. Nevertheless, he thinks he hears Tony let out a sigh that might be relief.

"Neither of them," Tony says. "I didn't – I just wanted it to be over. Just wanted to get _away_ from it. From them, from everyone, from the city and the prying and the constraint and my – Well. I wanted out. So I started responding to advertisements."

A few months before Tony came west, Steve asked how Tony had found his advertisement, since he hadn't placed it in any paper east of the Mississippi. Tony said a friend had been traveling and brought the personal pages from a few papers back for him.

"It was the only way out," Tony says, and Steve is _so_ glad Tony can't see his face right now. He honestly thinks he's either going to punch the floor and break his hand or scream.

"Jarvis, though," Tony continues, oblivious, "Jarvis kept telling me, Tony, don't run away. It won't change anything, and you'll be even more frustrated than you are now, because you'll think you've wasted your one chance. Don't run away. Don't run away."

"Mister Jarvis _wanted_ you to marry one of them?" Steve splutters. He thought Jarvis really cared about Tony. Although, now that Steve thinks about it, that would explain the way Mr Jarvis treated Steve while he was here.

"Oh god no," Tony laughs. "I didn't get it either, at first. But finally he said don't run away. Run _towards_. And, well, at the time that didn't help much either. What was the difference? How was running away from a life married to one of those creeps any different from running towards a life without either of them? And what did it matter, anyway, so long as I got away?

"Jarvis, he – he's brilliant, you know," Tony continues. "He could have been so much more, his life could have been so different, if it wasn't for me."

"Tony," Steve starts, but Tony clearly doesn't want to hear it and barrels on: "I wanted to just marry the first person who asked who wasn't Ty or Zeke. The further they were from the city the better. I'd have accepted four proposals in a month if Jarvis hadn't stopped me."

Silence for a moment. Steve still doesn't know what to say. Rather, doesn't know how to say what he wants to.

"Jarvis may have stopped me from making my life even worse, but it was Ana who really saved me."

"Ana?" Maybe she was the person Tony was truly in love with?

"Jarvis's wife. They basically raised me," Tony says, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. "Like I said, Jarvis is brilliant, but he was too – upright. Ana was the one who told me to make like an omega and lie."

"That's ridiculous –" Steve begins hotly, and Tony laughs. It's bright and warm and genuine, and Steve relaxes for the first time since they got to town that morning.

"That's not what I meant." Steve can hear the smile in Tony's voice. "I was in a bad situation, but Ana knew what could happen when Jarvis refused to believe it. Eventually someone was going to just drag me in front of a priest with one of them, and everyone would say we were married whether or not I said I do. Didn't even matter who it was who made me, if it was Ty or Zeke or one of our fathers, wouldn't have made a difference to the outcome. At some point someone was going to get sick of me actually trying to control my own life and they'd just _force_ me. And like I said, I didn't have anything to fall back on, not really. Couldn't run away with nowhere to go, couldn't get help with no one to turn to, couldn't get access to any tools or anything, couldn't even physically defend myself. And the more I tried to explain myself and act like I was a person the more they'd say I was hysterical and getting strange ideas and needed a nice alpha to calm me down."

There are a lot of things Steve wants to say right now, most of them falling on a spectrum from 'I would _never_ and if you feel like I did I'll help you leave I swear' right on up to vows to hunt down any or all of these people and make sure they can never hurt anyone again.

But everything he wants to say would shift the focus onto _Steve_. Tony sounds relaxed, happy even, and over the last few weeks Steve's been getting the feeling that Tony's beginning to trust him more, and Steve is going to pay attention to what Tony's saying and not interrupt what sounds like catharsis.

"She – god, it was amazing. It was like watching a magician. She helped me play them off each other, every single one of them. Kept it up for over a year, she was so good at it."

It's quiet for a little while. Steve still doesn't know what to say, and isn't sure he'd say anything even if he did. He can't see Tony, but he gets the feeling that Tony's gathering himself to say something else.

"Jarvis said they'd be fine," he says at last. "He worked for my father, see. He said that he and Ana would be fine. But he left me a letter the day he left and he, he said that. He said that he and Ana would be able to keep people from getting suspicious, but they'd still likely be watched for a while. They don't want anyone to be able to find me. They gave me a new address and said I could send letters there, but it'd be a while before they could pick them up or write to me."

And here Steve thought Tony was so anxious for a letter because he missed Mr Jarvis.

Steve knew that Tony had been mistreated. He knew that if Tony had any living family, they weren't close. He knew that Tony was in a tenuous situation. Even if he's avoided putting words around his suspicions, things Tony said in his letters and the way he's acted since he got here have shown Steve the truth whether he wants to think about it or no.

But it is not until this moment that Steve begins to understand the danger Tony was in and exactly how trapped he was.

"It was very brave," Steve says quietly, "to do all of that and come out here."

"I know," Tony says. "Jarvis and Ana are some of the bravest people I know."

"Not them," Steve says. "I'm not saying they're not brave, but I was talking about you."

"_Me?_" Tony says, incredulous.

"Of course," Steve says. "Tony. You were surrounded by people who didn't even think of you as a person and who acted like they completely controlled you. And not only did you not believe them, you also kept yourself safe for a long time and got away from all of them, despite knowing what might have happened if they caught you. Not only that, but you went to the other side of the country, where you don't know anyone, and the next day you married yet another alpha very nearly sight unseen. So yes, Tony, I think you're very brave."

"Oh," Tony says, and that's all.

After a moment Steve can't help it and he says, "Tony? I don't – I don't ever want to be like them, or to treat you like they did. I'll never do it on purpose, but if I do it accidentally, please tell someone. It doesn't have to be me, but tell _someone_. Tasha or Frigga or Clint. Anyone. They'll knock some sense into me and make sure you're safe."

Tony scoffs. "You wouldn't hurt me, Steve."

"No," Steve says, "I wouldn't."

They don't say anything for the rest of the night, and after a while Tony falls asleep – or it sounds like he does; his breathing deepens and evens out and he doesn't move around much – but Steve stays awake and keeps watch. He can't stop thinking of Tony's voice when he said Steve wouldn't hurt him, like the idea was absurd, like after everything he'd been through at the hands of his own _family_ he was still strong enough to trust someone new.

Yes, Steve decides as he drifts off to sleep just before dawn, Tony really is one of the bravest people he's ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do have things to fall back on. No one today is in exactly the same situation that Tony was, no matter how similar a lot of it might be, because we have organizations and laws and people who don't know us but will still help. The situation may seem hopeless now, but you'll never know how much hope there truly is unless you ask.
> 
> We do have things to fall back on. Googling your local hotline is a good place to start. So is Why Does He Do That? by Lundy Bancroft.


	7. Chapter 7

They wake in the pale morning - not together but not _apart,_ either, and that's what's important. They aren't touching but Steve can hear Tony breathing and see his hair and the movement of the blankets as he shuffles awake. Once they're both fed and clean they lock everything up tight and go back into town.

Neither of them say anything when they pull up in front of the post office first. By the time Steve has Star tied to the hitching-post Tony's already gone inside and is coming back out, and when he catches Steve's look he shakes his head. Steve wants to put a hand to Tony's shoulder, but he won't touch Tony without explicit permission. Tony sees his hands flexing and smiles up at him, touching Steve's arm just barely with his fingertips, and Steve reflexively smiles back. Feeling lighter despite how worried he still is about Mr Jarvis and Mrs Ana Steve says, "We should start at the sheriff’s."

"Good idea," says Tony, and away they go.

"Tony! Steve! My favorite hermits!" Clint cries as soon as they cross the threshold, jumping up from behind the desk to shake their hands.

"Betrayal," Bruce says from where he's sitting in the corner, but he's smiling.

"Bruce!" Tony says, rushing over. Yesterday Bruce had joined them just a little while before Steve and Tony ended up leaving, but even in just those few minutes Tony found a way to become fast friends with the most reclusive person in town.

"You're not a hermit." Clint waves an imperious hand. "You live in town and everything."

"You can still be a hermit and live in the midst of a lot of other people," Bruce says.

"Yeah," says Tony, "all you have to do is just not go outside."

Clint raises his eyebrows and spreads his hands, motioning to the whole building, since Bruce is clearly outside his home.

"Touché," Bruce says.

"Have either of you seen anyone new in town in the last few days? Any strangers?" Steve's enjoying watching his friends enjoy themselves, but there's still the possibility that Tony's in danger.

"Yeah," says Clint, not flippant now but not grim, either. "Man came in on the train yesterday. Alpha, I think, but I didn't get close enough to tell. He put up at Sif's."

"He cause any trouble?" Steve asks, watching Tony standing straight and rigid from the corner of his eye.

"Not that I've heard about," Clint says.

"I haven't heard anything, either," Bruce says - not to Steve, but to Tony. Perceptive.

"You wouldn't have heard anything, you're a hermit," Clint says, and Bruce rolls his eyes. "We should go to Sif's and see if he's still here. I haven't seen him at all today and the train hasn't come yet, but the train's not the only way to leave town."

But when they ask Sif says he went up to his room after eating dinner yesterday and hasn't come out since. Steve wants to point out that just because no one saw him leave doesn't mean he's still here, but he also doesn't want to overreact just yet so he bites his tongue.

The train won't come in for a few hours yet, so Steve and Tony decide to camp out and wait. They sit in a corner, and most of Steve's friends come over to talk at one point or another so it's not boring.

Less than a quarter hour before the train is scheduled to arrive a man Steve's never seen comes down the stairs, goes to the counter and pays his bill, then walks out the door. There's no way he saw them; not only are they tucked into a corner, but he didn't even look around.

"It's not him," Tony breathes, and Steve looks at him sharply. He's trembling, barely, so slightly that Steve wouldn't be able to see it if he weren't sitting next to him. "I've never seen him before."

"I'm going to make sure he leaves," Steve says. Before he can even stand up, though, Sif says, "Clint's got it, Cap," and nods to the window. Sure enough, a moment later Clint ambles by, for all the world casual and unhurried, but he's moving towards the station and his eyes are sharp.

They're halfway down the street from the station, but Steve hears the train as loudly as if he were standing on the platform. The whistle as it comes up the mountain and rounds the last bend, warning anyone near the tracks. It rumbles and grinds into the station. The brakes shriek. There's an awful wait while it doesn't move. Then the whistle blows again, and the engine roars, and the chug chug of the wheels starts and picks up speed, and a few minutes later he can't hear it anymore at all.

No one moves till Clint strides through the doors and says, "He got on the train. Watched till I couldn't see it no more. He's gone."

Tony exhales shakily.

"Thank you, Clint," Steve says sincerely, trying not to slump over in relief so far he falls out of his chair.

"Well that was harrowing," Clint says, and Steve readies to cut him off from asking what's going on. But all Clint says is, "I feel that warrants a drink. M'lady?"

"Aren't you on duty?" Sif asks, but she's filling four shot glasses.

Clint shrugs. "Who do you think's gonna do something? You planning on knocking over the store, Sif?"

"Something could happen," Steve points out, trying to sound normal. "Horse could break a leg or kid could fall into the river or something. Still might need the sheriff for some reason."

Clint rolls his eyes as he brings three of the glasses over. "I'm not going to get drunk on one drink, Steve, honestly."

He puts the glasses down but immediately goes back to the counter, saying something to Sif about needing food, too, and Steve ducks his head and says quietly, "What do you want to do? Do you want to go?"

Tony doesn't answer for long enough that Steve thinks he didn't hear, but then Tony says slowly, "No. I'd like - I'd like to stay. Here. To see everyone."

To see all these people who helped keep him safe without knowing why or asking questions, Steve thinks he means, and Steve thinks it's a good idea. Knowing that there are more people in his life now than just Steve who will protect him.

* * *

The rest of the day passes normally, and things are fine until that night. The sun's set, the doors and windows locked, the fire banked, and they're about to go upstairs to bed and part ways. Steve is literally wringing his hands because he does not want Tony out of his _sight_ right now. They walk upstairs - Steve first and Tony following - and Steve pauses before going into his room.

"Good night, Tony," he says. Tony nods, not looking at him.

Damn it. He'll just sleep on the floor outside Tony's door. Tony will feel guilty if he knows about it, though, so Steve'll go to his own room first and change out of his clothes, grab a pillow and maybe a blanket, and come back out after Tony's already settled.

"I didn't ask for any of this," Tony says quickly, and Steve turns towards him. He's still not looking at Steve, bouncing on his feet and waving his hands, nervous about something, "and you've already given me so much, Steve, _so_ much, and I really don't want to ask for anything else, and you don't have to, not at all, but..."

"Anything," Steve says when Tony trails off. "Anything you want. Anything at all."

The last word isn't even out of his mouth before Tony says, "Stay with me tonight?"

Steve blinks. Steve listens to the words again inside his head. Steve does not understand.

"It's fine," Tony says, apparently taking his silence as a negative answer. "It's not a big deal, I'll just -"

"No!" Steve manages to find his voice at last. "No, I mean, I mean yes, of course I will, of _course."_

Tony does look at him now, all huge liquid eyes and downturned mouth.

"We don't have to go in your room," Steve says, grasping desperately for a way to say that they don't have to have sex without actually saying the words. "We can just. We can go anywhere. Or we can not go anywhere! I mean, um."

But Tony's smiling now, small and unsure but genuine. "I know what you mean, Steve," he says softly. "Let's go," and he doesn't finish the sentence but he motions to Steve's room and Steve nods.

It seems to take years, but at last Tony and Steve are both standing in Steve's room, on opposite sides of the bed, Tony clutching his pillow in front of him like a shield.

"You take the bed," Steve says, reaching for his own pillow.

"What? No." Tony frowns but stays where he is.

"I'm not going anywhere," Steve says. "I'll still be here. But I'm used to sleeping on the floor. It'll be fine."

"No," Tony says again. He doesn't obviously take a breath or square his shoulders, but Steve gets the sense he's doing it in his head anyway. "No. There's a bed right here. It's big enough for the both of us. We're married, for godsake. We are both going to sleep in the bed."

Steve wants to protest - he was in the Army so he's used to far worse, he can drag the straw tick from Tony's room in here and sleep on that, the bed is big enough for two people but it's really not big enough for two people to not touch - but Tony already knows all that. Tony's smart. If he really didn't want to share a bed with Steve he'd find a way to get what he wanted without it.

Tony is his own person. Steve wants to protect him and make him happy, but it's not up to him. If Tony decides to do something that Steve thinks will make him unsafe or unhappy it doesn't matter, because it's still Tony's decision. Tony may have been hurt before and may be scared now, but that is no reason for Steve to _allow_ him to do anything.

"I'll stay," Steve says.

Tony nods, then nods again and looks at the bed. He still looks apprehensive and he doesn't make a move towards it. Steve had intended to let him get in first, in keeping with his resolve to not initiate any contact between them, but then he gets the flash of an image, what it would look like from Tony's perspective to have an alpha so much bigger than him looming over him and climbing into bed beside him, and Steve practically dives beneath the covers before Tony can move.

He pulls his pillow over to his side and lies down. Before he stops moving Tony raises the covers and climbs in beside him, putting down his pillow and lying down.

"Good night," says Steve.

"Good night, Steve," says Tony.

Steve wakes with a start. It feels like no time has passed at all and he doesn't remember falling asleep. He must've slept, though: the room is barely grey around him, the way it looks every morning just before sunup. He's lying on his side with his arm around Tony, gently holding him tucked safe to his chest.

Damn. At least it seems like Tony's not awake yet; Steve doesn't want him to wake with Steve's hands all over him. Cautiously, he raises his arm from Tony's waist and lifts the covers off himself, then tucks them around Tony so there won't be a cold draft when Steve rises. Slowly, he tries to get up without jostling the bed.

"Mmph?" Tony says blearily, shuffling towards Steve a little.

"I'm going to tend the stock," Steve whispers. "Go back to sleep."

"Time'sit?"

"Early," Steve says, and laughs quietly when Tony makes an indignant noise and shuffles around, wrapping himself more firmly in the blankets and burrowing beneath the pillows to keep out the light.

* * *

It's an overcast day, gray and rainy, though thankfully the rain is light enough that Steve's not worried about flooding. He and Tony have been inside all day, quietly working on separate things but existing in each other's space.

Now Steve's at the table working his way through the mending. It's easy enough but still taking longer than usual; Steve's been neglecting it lately and the number of things to mend is greater than normal.

Tony's at the writing desk, tapping the pen against the paper and the desk and his hands and his chin, looking out the window. He's been at it for ages and hasn't written a word.

"Steve," Tony says suddenly, "I need you to stop me from writing this."

"No," Steve says, kindly but automatic. "Who are you writing to?"

"My mother."

That brings Steve up short. His immediate thought - of course Tony should write her, she's his mother - is quickly overtaken by the cold terror of what could happen. If anyone finds out where Tony is -

"Why do I want to write her?" Tony says, pensive. "She was miserable, and instead of trying to save or even just shield her only child from that, she turned around and tried to put me in exactly the same situation. She knew that I would be miserable, too, and that I'd be - I'd get hurt, and she didn't care. Why do I want to tell her that instead of that I'm married to a good man and I'm all right? Why do I worry that she's worried about me? I know she's not."

The only sound is the rain softly pattering against the roof. Steve's never been so lost for words in all his life.

"I shouldn't be homesick!" Tony throws the pen down, shoving the chair back and crossing his arms. "It wasn't even really a home in the first place! I spent ages trying to escape, and I _did._ I'm so happy to be away from it! I hated it! What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," Steve says. Tony fists his hands in his hair, his face tipped back and eyes squeezed shut like he's trying to block out whatever's in his head. "You get used to things, no matter what they are. No matter how awful they are," says Steve, remembering when he first came to Big Eden himself after leaving the Army, "you adapt and get used to it. And when you go somewhere completely new it's like every single thing reminds you that you're somewhere else. Everything from the big, obvious things like the people and the buildings, right down to the tiny things you don't even notice, like the feel of the floor and the color of the light."

Everything was different, all of it, everything reminded him of where he was and where he _wasn't._ The silverware. The smell of the air. The noises of the house settling at night. The animals. The temperature. The trees. The wind. The people who were here and the people who - weren't.

"You have to get used to it," Steve says, thinking that now he can walk through the woods in the dark and not run into anything or trip. "Even if you're somewhere you want to be, at first it's still overwhelming."

Tony's staring at him wide-eyed.

"Of course, I mean," Steve starts, realizing how stupid he sounds, "obviously I don't know exactly what it's like for you. I've never been in this situation before, and how coming here affected both of us is different, so. I don't know exactly what it's like for you. But I. Know a bit."

"No," says Tony quietly, "no, you're right. Thinking about it all the time feels like nostalgia, but it probably isn't."

"And it's not like it was all bad, right? You had Mister Jarvis and Missus Ana."

Tony looks away. "I keep thinking about them, too. They only kept working for my father to stay with me. Jarvis told me in his letter. I think he was trying to make me feel better that they had to leave when I did, but all that means is they didn't want to be there, either, and I kept them there."

"They're adults," Steve says. "The only people who kept them there were themselves, and the people making them miserable weren't you."

"Still," Tony says. "It's hard, knowing that all the times I thought we were happy they really weren't."

"Were _you_ happy? Ever?"

"Yes. I was happy with Jarvis and Ana."

"And you were in a worse situation than they were. They could have left if they wanted to; you couldn't. Don't you think that if you were able to be happy with them despite everything else, they were happy with you, too?"

Tony knits his brow, eyes going unfocused. "I guess," he says.

"You know," Steve says a while later, "just because you write a letter doesn't mean you have to send it."

Tony looks at him for a little while but doesn't say anything, and Steve continues mending. A minute later Tony turns back to the desk and picks up the pen, and a moment later begins writing feverishly.

That night when they go upstairs Tony follows Steve into his room without a word. The bed is neatly made, Tony and Steve's pillows beside each other as if they always have been. Neither of them hesitate to get under the covers, this time, and once more Steve falls asleep without realizing it. This happens every night for a week, this strange phenomena of Tony following him to bed and neither of them mentioning it, and for a week Steve's sleep is peaceful.

* * *

Steve is drowning. Icy bitter seawater is pouring down his throat and forcing itself up his nose. He's drowning but he's standing on dry land at in the prison, and it's a flat plane but he's watching the fall from the train, and he's on the train in the cold wind of the mountains but trapped in something warm and soft and constricting, and he's underwater, and he's falling from the ship, and he's falling from the train, and it's all jumbled up, all the worst things that have ever happened to him, and sometimes it's happening to him and sometimes it's happening to Bucky and sometimes it's happening to Tony and no matter what Steve is frozen, can't move, can't scream, can't blink or look away.

Gradually he loses his sight until he can't see at all, knows he can't see anything but can't stop thinking of the terrible images of Bucky drowning and Tony falling and all the rest. He still feels sick like he's on a ship in a storm or on a train on a bridge or falling, but he's not falling anymore. He's lying down, flat on his back, frozen in ice. He can't move. He can't move.

After a long time frantically trying to do anything Steve realizes that he's asleep. Or waking up. He's in his bed, Tony's beside him, but Steve can't open his eyes and can't move and can't make a sound. He's trapped. Trapped. Voiceless.

He focuses desperately on the sound of Tony breathing, anything outside himself, and keeps trying to move. He can't open his eyes. It's like they're sewed shut. There's no light. He's frozen.

It takes a long, long time, but at last Steve can open his eyes. For a little while he's not sure he managed, because it's so dark he can't tell if his eyes are still shut and just feel like they're open.

Gradually bits of him break free of whatever's holding him. He can twitch a finger, move a foot. He puts all his concentration into using the bit of movement he has to get out of bed and do it quietly.

He almost falls off the bed but catches himself at the last moment. He can't really stand, but manages to stumble to the foot of the bed. He might be awake or he might be dreaming but either way clawing his way to the chest of Tony's letters is as instinctive and automatic as breathing.

He curls up against the foot of the bed and fumbles the chest open. And it's bad enough that he can't write a letter because his hands are shaking too badly, but it's too dark even to read. Miserable and denied even that comfort he clutches a handful of letters he can't see and curls around them, still afforded the meagre comfort of the faded scent of Tony on them - drowning and grasping at the knowledge that everything Steve dreamed may have been kind of real and kind of not but _Tony_ is real, he _exists,_ Steve's got the proof of it right in his hands, and tries not to cry too loudly though he can't remember why he needs to be quiet.

Something is tugging on the letters. Someone's trying to take them away. Steve bites off a sob and holds them tighter, no, no, don't take this away from him too - but then he hears something, someone talking, and the words can't make it through his clogged ears and stuffed-up brain but he recognizes the voice. Tony's pulling on the letters and Steve does _not_ want to hurt him but realizes that he accidentally might, so he lets go and then the letters are gone, too.

There's a feather-light touch on the back of his hand and it must be Tony and Steve's terrified of hurting him so he curls up tighter to keep his fists away. A moment later Tony wraps his hands around Steve's arm and pulls, and Steve doesn't want to hurt him, so he forces his arm to relax as much as possible even though Tony's pulling his arm away from his chest, opening him up wide when all Steve wants to do is stay curled up around himself.

Tony crawls into his lap and pulls Steve's arms around himself, wrapping his own arms around Steve's shoulders and tucking Steve's face into his neck, his legs on Steve's legs and chest against Steve's chest and his weight anchoring Steve here, and Steve tries not to hold him too tight but oh gods Tony's so warm and here here here and Steve just clings and cries and tries not to crush him.

This whole time Tony hasn't stopped speaking to him softly. "It's all right," he's whispering, "it's all right, it was just a dream, none of it was real, it's all right -"

"N-No," Steve chokes, "it was real, it was _real_ -"

"It's over now," Tony tells him.

"It was real -"

"It's not happening anymore."

"I drowned," Steve tries to tell him. He feels like he's still drowning, hideous pressure in his chest and water on his face, and isn't sure if Tony can even understand what he's saying but also isn't coherent enough to care, "Bucky fell, he died right in front of me, and I loved him but he died and I lived and then I drowned and I died too and now I'm dreaming you and you're going to get taken away too and I'll still be dead -"

"You didn't die, Steve," Tony says against his temple, one of his hands slowly stroking Steve's hair. "You're alive, it's all over now, you're here, you're all right, I'm here, I'm here," on and on through the dark of the night.

"Steve," Tony whispers when the sobs have stopped and the dampness is nearly dry, taking Steve's hot face in his cool hands, "will you look at me, please?"

It takes a long time and a lot of effort, but Steve overcomes both the fear that he'll open his eyes and it'll still be pitch black and his own weariness and cracks his puffy eyelids. Tony's right there, right in front of him, and Steve can't figure out the expression on his face but it looks sad, for some reason.

"There you go," Tony says, and kisses his forehead. "I'm right here. You're here. It's all right."

In the grey dawn Tony manages to coax Steve back into bed, wrapping him up tight. Steve lets Tony move them where he wants, and they end up on their sides, facing one another, Tony's shins pressed to the top of Steve's thighs and Steve's face tucked into the hollow of Tony's throat, his hands holding onto Tony's waist and Tony's hands in his hair.

He feels weighted down again but this time it's good; feels like resting. The feel of Tony's fingers in his hair and the rhythm of his breathing are soothing. Steve doesn't sleep, but he fades in and out, and doesn't want to sleep because he doesn't want to dream but this is so much more restful.

"Hey," Tony says quietly, kissing his hair. Steve tries to say something but it comes out as a questioning hum. "I'm going to use the outhouse. I'll be right back." Steve hums again.

He drifts, and it feels like spinning. Tony comes back to bed and tugs on Steve until he's wrapped around him, face pressed to Tony's warmth and arms around him. Without meaning to and without realizing it's going to happen, Steve sleeps.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve blinks awake, warm and content and confused. He had a nightmare last night, the worst one he's had in ages - he shouldn't be waking up because he shouldn't have fallen asleep for at least another day or two. And when he does wake up, he certainly shouldn't feel so good.

It takes him a second, but he works out that Tony's sitting propped up against the headboard, Steve's legs curled so that Tony's bent legs are resting over his, the backs of his knees against the side of Steve's thigh. He's got one arm around Tony's waist, holding on to him like a stuffed toy or a life raft, with his face pressed to Tony's clothed hip.

There's something resting atop Steve's arm that feels like a pillow. Tony's hand is resting on his head, and every now and again he'l. absently stroke his fingers through Steve's hair.

It feels like heaven, but eventually Steve is too restless to stay in bed. With an embarrassingly muzzy noise he lifts his head, looking around and trying to figure out why the room doesn't look right.

"Good morning sleepyhead," Tony says, tugging his hair gently. He's got a pillow on his lap and a book on the pillow. Smiling like he's teasing he says, "You slept half the morning away."

"What?" Steve says. That's why the room looks strange: it's bright with sunlight. He looks at the window and realizes it must be nearly noon.

"Oh no," Steve groans. "I've got to go feed -"

"No you don't," Tony says firmly, pressing down on his shoulder. "I fed and watered the stock and let them out. After the night you had you deserve a little actual rest. So you just stay where you are until you very well feel like getting up."

Tony got up just after dawn and did Steve's chores. He's been reading in bed so he could stay with Steve and Steve could sleep.

If Steve thought he was in love with Tony before...

"Thank you, Tony," Steve says, every muscle going loose with relief.

Tony shrugs and picks up his book again. "What are husbands for?"

Steve laughs. And to think just twelve hours ago he thought he'd never laugh again. "Something less than that, I think."

"Humph," Tony says. "They shouldn't be."

"I agree."

Steve settles back down, though he doesn't press his face to Tony's hip again, and just basks. Today is already a good day.

* * *

That afternoon there's a knock on the door and Tony nearly jumps out of his skin.

Steve shoots to his feet, part of him wanting grab Tony and shield him, part of him wanting to go fight whoever's at the door. He looks at Tony and Tony's eyes are wide, his feet planted like he's bracing for something. Steve catches his eye and motions to the stairs. Tony gives him a grateful look and bolts.

As soon as he hears Tony's bedroom door close Steve strides to the front door and flings it open. Sam's standing there, hand raised like he was about to knock again.

"Oh," says Steve. "Hi, Sam."

Sam gives him a supremely unimpressed look the way only Sam can.

"Sorry that took so long," Steve tries, but Sam holds his hands up.

"I do not want to know," he says, and then laughs when Steve flushes and splutters negations.

"Did you actually want something?" Steve crosses his arms, though he knows his face is still flaming red.

"Yeah," Sam says, still snickering. "That party Clint's planning and pretending is not for your and Tony's wedding? I am here to warn you it is definitely for your and Tony's wedding, so the both of you had better be prepared to be the center of attention."

"Great," Steve mutters.

"Also," Sam says, forestalling any of Steve's complaining, "Maria said Tony would probably want this."

Sam pulls a letter out of his vest pocket.

"Oh!" Steve says, snatching it as soon as Sam holds it out. It's addressed to Tony Rogers. "Oh, gods, thank you!"

"No problem, man. And remember what I said about the party."

"I will, I will," Steve promises absently. The postmark is Canadian and he doesn't recognize the handwriting. He and Sam say their goodbyes and as soon as Sam turns away Steve closes the door hurries towards the stairs, hollering, "Tony! Tony, letter!"

Tony pelts downstairs; Steve hands him the letter and he turns away, going to the window and ripping it open. He reads it with his back to Steve but doesn't leave the room, and Steve just stands there and watches him, waiting, maybe praying - Tony raises a hand to his face. His shoulders are shaking. He turns halfway towards Steve and Steve's stomach sinks.

"They're all right," Tony whispers, voice catching. "Steve, Steve, they're all right."

Steve crosses the room in two quick strides and puts a hand on Tony's shoulder - and as soon as Steve touches him Tony turns towards him, flings himself at him, clutches the letter to his chest with one hand and holds Steve tight with the other and buries his face in Steve's neck.

And Steve - Steve does what he's been dreaming of doing for well over a year and gathers Tony up in his arms, holding him tight and comforting and pressing his lips to his temple.

Mr Jarvis and Mrs Ana are safe and Tony's so relieved he's overwhelmed and is reaching out to Steve like it's nothing and Steve's life is perfect.

* * *

Clint's party isn't nearly so bad as Steve thinks it's going to be. He didn't invite the whole town like Steve assumed he would, only their good friends, and most of them are people Tony's met already.

There's food and drink and good conversation, and the bonfire is huge and wonderful in the fading autumn evening. Someone said something about dancing later, but Steve doesn't really dance so he doesn't really care.

And Tony - it's not that Tony's like a completely different person. It's like Tony is finally _himself._

He is the center of attention and _shining_ with it. He speaks with everyone, drawing smiles and laughter out of even the most reserved. People call out to him and he shouts back from across the clearing; he draws the eye of every person at once by acting out some ridiculous story that would make anyone else look foolish but that he makes look charming; he gets in playful but loud arguments with Sam, Jane, and Bruce about everything from (as far as Steve can tell) metallurgy to astronomy to whether or not it's possible to make a train that flies. If Steve thought they were all half in love with him before, well. Well.

He smiles at Steve, though. He thanks Steve when Steve brings him a drink or a plate, he draws Steve into the conversation even when Steve would normally be content to stay silent and watchful on the outskirts, he catches Steve's eye through the crowd and grins at him like they're sharing a joke, he gets loudly offended at Darcy for impugning his honor and demands Steve protect him, and he laughs and leans back when Steve playfully wraps an arm around his waist and mock-glares at Darcy.

"He's a better host than I am," Clint says.

"Yeah," Steve says, not able to take his eyes off Tony on the other side of the yard and sure he's grinning like a loon.

Tony turns away from the conversation just enough to catch Steve's eye and wink.

"You're not supposed to agree!" Clint laughs.

Steve shrugs. "So go out-host him, then."

Of course that doesn't work out quite the way Steve intended - because Clint marches right up to Tony and tells him they're in a hosting competition, which rapidly devolves into them competing over _everything_ \- from how quickly they can eat an apple to how fast they can run from one edge of the yard to the other to how high they can climb the huge, spreading oak behind the house and to few other things that Steve can't keep track of.

Darkness falls rapidly, the sun sinking beyond the mountains in a burst of glory outshone only by the stars that light the sky. Clint lights a dozen lanterns in the barn (all of them hung high to prevent anyone from bumping in to them) and a handful of people pull out instruments and settle against the back wall. A handful of people including - Tasha? Steve stands and stares for a moment, but it really is her. He had no idea she played fiddle.

Well, the real question is whether she's been able to play this whole time and kept it a secret for some esoteric, unknowable reason, or if she learned recently specifically for tonight. He wouldn't put either past her.

The musicians strike up a jaunty tune and everyone except Steve is immediately in the middle of the floor, dancing, and then Tony flops down beside him.

"We're building a forge," Tony tells him. "Won't be able to handle a full-sized train, of course, but it'll have to be big enough to build a train that could carry at least one person. And then we will fly it down to town and laugh in their silly, disbelieving faces."

Tony's sprawled out, relaxed, and his chest is heaving and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are pink and his eyes are sparkling and he's smiling at Steve and Steve says, "I'm in love with you."

Tony looks at him, still smiling but sharp-eyed, and after a moment his face goes impossibly soft. "I know you are," he says. "Well, I wasn't sure, but I hoped."

"I do," says Steve. "I have for ages."

Tony laughs breathlessly. "I know that too, Steve. You don't have to try to prove it to me anymore."

Steve frowns. "I was never trying to _prove_ it to you."

"All right," Tony says. Then, "Would you like to dance?"

"Not really," Steve admits, and Tony laughs again. "It's just that I'm a terrible dancer."

"If you really don't want to it's not a big deal," Tony says, "but if you wouldn't mind I'd enjoy dancing with you. We can wait for a slow song and stay off to the side, yes?"

He hesitates and Tony nudges him with his elbow. "Really? You don't want an excuse to hold my hand and put your arm around me?"

Steve chokes on a laugh. "Of course I do. I'm just more worried about crushing your toes."

"I'm light on my feet. I'd have to be, after all the interminable dance lessons I was subject to for the last ten years. I'll be able to stay out of the way. Besides, what if I'm asking because _I_ want to hold _your_ hand and to be held in your arms? Did you ever think about that, huh?"

"All - All right," Steve says, unable to draw breath or take his eyes off Tony's smile.

Barely a second later the musicians fade into a slower song, Frigga singing in a sweet clear voice about wishing for someone, and they both rise. Everyone on the dance floor has also paired off - friends and sweethearts alike - still talking and laughing. Steve's about to go towards them and stand on the edges like Tony said, but Tony turns to him and steps closer right where they are.

Steve swallows. He's never been so nervous in his life.

Tony smiles up at him, sunny and teasing, and takes Steve's right wrist. He steps closer still, and draws Steve's hand around to settle on the middle of his back. Then he puts his right hand in Steve's left, drawing them up so their elbows are bent and their loosely clasped hands are level with Tony's shoulder. Then he lays his left arm atop Steve's right, and puts his left hand on Steve's shoulder, and then he smiles up at Steve and tugs just a little, half a step back.

Steve follows instinctively as Tony pulls him - not even in a circle, but a continuous half-step to the side so that they're gently spinning in place. Even just doing that Steve keeps looking at his feet, genuinely worried that if he steps on Tony's toes he might break them.

"Don't lift your feet up," Tony says, then demonstrates. "See, just sort of shuffle. It's smoother, and then my feet won't be able to get under yours in the first place."

Steve does and it works, and he smiles at Tony, proud of himself, and Tony smiles back. He moves his hand just enough to touch his fingers to Steve's neck, and Steve wants so badly to pull him closer, but he won't let himself.

Tony must feel the way he tenses because he says, "I'm not going to break, you know."

"No, but I might," Steve says. Tony laughs, but half a second too late - like he's thinking something else entirely and doesn't want Steve to know.

They dance, and Steve loses track of time - loses track of everything that's not the reality of Tony in his arms, warm and solid pressed against him, lightning-quick and beautiful smiling up at him, the way Steve feels strangely shivery and shaky.

As they dance they get closer and closer - Tony moves closer and closer - until their clasped hands are tucked against their bodies and Tony's head is lying on Steve's shoulder, his face turned to Steve's throat. Steve rests his cheek against Tony's hair and closes his eyes.

"Steve?" Tony says quietly. Steve hums.

Tony looks up and Steve looks down at him, and that's it.

It's Tony who starts forward this time but Steve follows immediately, seeing Tony's huge liquid eyes slide shut just before Steve's own do, Tony's fingertips light as a breath on his jaw guiding their mouths together.

His lips are soft and warm, and Steve holds Tony's hand tighter and pulls him closer at the feel of it. For a moment neither of them move, and then tentatively, like they can't help it, they start exploring, lips sliding over lips and breathing each other's air. Tony's fingers slide from Steve's jaw to tangle in the short hair at the back of his head and Steve groans, startled.

Tony breaks away and Steve looks down at him, worried that he's frightened him, but Tony's smiling up at him like the sun rising and only goes far enough to see Steve without going cross-eyed.

Laughter in his voice Tony whispers, "You taste good."

"You taste so sweet," Steve whispers back, because he does. "So sweet, Tony."

"You _are_ sweet," Tony says, and draws his head down to kiss him again.

Unable to help it Steve lets his eyes fall closed again, smiling dopily and staying where he is, head low enough for Tony to reach his lips for quick kisses, again and again and again.

The music slides into a faster song, and their little bubble is broken. Steve forgot there were other people around them; forgot where they were and what was going on in the first place. They both look around and then lean into each other, laughing quietly, at how startled they were.

"Steve," Tony says again.

"Yeah?" Steve still has one arm wrapped secure around Tony, and without thinking about it uses the other hand to brush a wayward curl off Tony's forehead.

"Take," Tony says, then swallows. "Take me home?"

They stare at each other for a long time. Try as he might to find an alternate explanation, there's no mistaking the way Tony's holding his eye or the expression on his face.

"We don't have to," Steve says, and means it with all his heart. "We don't ever have to."

"I _want_ to," Tony says, then snaps his mouth shut and ducks his head, clearly embarrassed at blurting that out.

Steve just pulls him closer and kisses his hair. "Whatever you want," he says again. "Anything you want."

"Take me _home_," Tony says into Steve's shirt, so Steve does.

It takes them a long time to say goodbye to everyone, and longer still to walk through the nighttime woods, Tony tucked under one of Steve's arms and lantern held aloft in the other.

They're both drooping by the time they make it back to the house. Tony walks upstairs in front of Steve and goes into Steve's room, and Steve feels a fission of excitement run down his spine - they've been using going into Tony's room as a euphemism for something, so maybe going into Steve's room means that Tony wants to - but when the sparks make it to the base of Steve's spine they settle in his belly and turn to something warmer.

Tony's moving quietly around the room, slowly undressing and getting ready for bed. Steve does the same, and either by habit or from nerves they both leave their shirts and under-drawers on, like always.

Unlike always, as soon as they both climb in to bed they fall into each other, Steve pulling Tony into his arms and Tony pressing close, Steve's head on the pillow as Tony sprawls over his chest and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

After a little while, though, despite their best efforts they're both nodding off. Steve laughs into Tony's mouth, shuffling them around so they can lie down next to each other comfortably, and laughs harder when Tony makes an affronted noise and glares at him sleepily. But as soon as Steve leans in to him again Tony rests a hand on the side of his face, drawing him forward for more kisses, both of them tangled together warm and content and kiss each other to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not care less that some of the lyrics are achronological: in keeping with Big Eden, the song Tony and Steve dance to is Wishes by Lari White.


	9. Chapter 9

Before Steve even wakes he knows he's wrapped around Tony and that he really, really needs to get away without waking Tony up –

– But then he remembers the night before, Clint's party, and dancing with Tony in his arms, and Tony saying "Take me home" and meaning something beyond that, and kissing each other to sleep –

– And realizes Tony's in his arms because Tony put himself there on purpose, so no, Steve _doesn't_ have to let go of him and slip away.

Utterly delighted, Steve settles back and shifts a bit until they're a bit more comfortable. He's on his back and Tony's on his side beside him, one of his legs over one of Steve's, his head on Steve's shoulder and his hand on Steve's sternum, Steve's arm around him. He pulls Tony closer and puts his own hand over Tony's on his chest, and closes his eyes and just memorizes the feel of it.

Some time later Tony starts twitching, limbs going slightly more tense, and his breathing speeds up. Then he groans and snuffles into Steve's chest, obviously put out at being awake. Steve loves him so much he's fit to burst.

"What're you doing?" Tony mumbles.

Eyes still closed and smiling so hard his face hurts Steve says simply, "Basking."

Tony laughs and kisses his chest, and even through Steve's nightshit his lips feel wonderful.

For a while they stay that way, warm and drowsy and content, shifting every now and then to get a bit more comfortable, a bit more close to each other.

Into the silence Steve says, "The first time I ever saw you," but no, that's not quite right. Tony shifts a bit and Steve knows he's listening, but he doesn't jump in.

"No," Steve says, "even before that. In your letters you told me that you had no money at all, and you didn't say outright but you tried so hard to let me know that you weren't handsome, and you were so clever and so clearly well-educated... I thought you were a schoolteacher."

Tony snorts a laugh, and Steve laughs with him, playfully nudging him in reproof. "It made sense! I assumed your family had money and then fell on hard times, and that you were making a living off your intelligence. And I was so – gods, Tony, I couldn't wait to get you out here. To take care of you. I was so excited to get you out of whatever sort of boarding house you were living in in New York and out here where you'd have a whole house to yourself, and where things wouldn't be as opulent as what I thought you'd grown up with, but where you wouldn't have to _worry_ about going hungry or anything...

"And I was so nervous waiting in the train station," Steve continues. _"So_ nervous, Tony, gods. I was looking for you everywhere and I saw – I saw someone else. Tony. He was absolutely the most beautiful person I had ever, ever seen in all my life. But he was richly dressed, and so obviously wealthy, and I just, oh gods. I felt so _guilty_ because I was about to meet the man I was already in love with, who had agreed to _marry_ me, and here I was looking at someone else. And he couldn't be you, obviously, because he was the exact opposite of what you'd described. But then I couldn't find you at all and I was so worried that something'd happened to you, and then Mister Jarvis found me and brought me over to see you – to see Tony, my – well. Not _my_ Tony, but _the_ Tony, the one I'd been talking to for so long, who made me feel – Not quite so alone, and more alone than ever. My heart's beating like a stampede and I can't see anything in the shadows and then there he was. There you were. The beautiful man from before."

Tony's quiet and Steve doesn't say anything else, just keeps gently stroking the back of Tony's hand where it's still lying on his chest.

Then Tony says, "When you lifted the trunk, did you notice I started to get hard?"

Steve's so startled he chokes on his own spit and can hardly cough because he's laughing so hard. Tony swats at him, but he's smiling. "Steve! Stop it!" Tony laughs. "I am baring my _soul_ to you here, _and_ telling you something _terribly romantic,_ and you're throwing it back in my face –"

Still laughing Steve rolls Tony under him and kisses him mid-word, and Tony immediately throws his arms around Steve's neck and pulls, their mouths open and sloppy and gasping and desperate against each other.

They're wrapped so close to each other, grasping and pulling and trying to get closer still, and Tony's mouth leaves his to kiss along his jaw, and Steve buries his face in Tony's neck and shoulder and mouths at his sleep-warm skin.

"Steve," Tony gasps right into his ear. _"Steve."_

In less than a second Steve has a series of thoughts and realizations, and these are: sex is definitely one of the things Tony's been scared of, Tony sure seems to want this right now but that could easily change at any moment, if they do have sex now Steve is going to show Tony such a good time that Tony might be willing to do this again at some point, or at the very least won't be traumatized and will stop worrying that he's _going to be_ traumatized.

Usually Steve is able to make himself concentrate on the present. Tony's here now, no one is hurting him, no one is controlling him, Steve is trying his hardest to give Tony happiness, and even if Steve messes up or Tony just doesn't want to stay with him there are still at least a dozen people who'd do anything for him. But for one moment, as Tony fists his hands in Steve's hair and brings their mouths together again, everything else in Steve's head is swept aside by the image of Tony in the midst of people who wanted to hurt him, with only Jarvis and Ana trapped on the sidelines to tell him it shouldn't be happening while his own parents - while not one but two men who wanted to _marry_ him, for godsake - gave him nothing but pain. Tony's had so little happiness before, and it must've been so rare for him to feel _good,_ and Steve's overwhelmed by the _need_ to show Tony a good time - to give him something that feels so, _so_ good, to give him the chance to just get lost in something that feels wonderful -

Even as Steve thinks this Tony spreads his knees a bit, and his knees knock on Steve's hips, his thighs not yet bracketing Steve but open enough that they could be. Steve isn't leaning his weight on Tony but all the same his clothed cock brushes against Tony at the same time that something very hard and very hot bumps Steve's stomach, and Steve's hips reflixively jerk sharply forward.

"Can I?" Steve asks, as though Tony can read his mind. "Can I please?"

"Yes, yes, gods yes," Tony groans, and Steve presses his face into Tony's neck, the feel and smell of Tony's skin against his face and ears and pressing against his closed eyes, smothering himself for the space of one breath to keep himself from coming right then.

Tony's moving against him, hands sliding and clutching, hips pulling back and arms pulling their chests together, like he's trying to get closer and doesn't know how to do anything but try to get away instead.

"I want to make you feel good," Steve says, honest and oddly shy, and Tony makes a high-pitched noise and laughs at the same time.

Steve kisses him full on the mouth, one quick catch of lips like he's saying goodbye and doesn't want to go, and sits back on his knees and pulls his shirt off before he can overthink it.

"Oh," says Tony.

Steve's eyes snap to Tony's face. He doesn't realize how nervous he is until he finds himself clutching his shirt in his hands, unable to take the final step and toss it away and unable to look at Tony until he hears him make that noise.

Tony's sprawled in front of him. He's buried in the pillows like Steve's kisses pressed him into them, his hair is a wreck, his chest is heaving for breath. His arms are at his sides, hands fisted in the covers despite how lax the rest of him is. His legs are spread around Steve's knees, and his cock is standing up beneath his drawers and shirt and making Steve's mouth water. And his eyes (drinking in the sight of Steve's chest and arms, apparently) are wide and surprised and sparkling, and his face is flushed dark, and his pulse is leaping in his throat, and his mouth is hanging open now but a moment ago he was smiling.

The thought that anything at all might change any of him, the thought of him becoming even a little bit less relaxed or aroused or happy, is _unbearable._

"Please tell me if you don't like something," Steve says, shirt forgotten as he drops his hands to rest lightly on Tony's knees, feeling the bony realness of them beneath the sheet. "Tell me if you _do_ like something. We can do whatever you want, all right? We can do something different or slow down or stop altogether or never do or even speak of this again -"

"Steven," Tony says, eyes burning into his. "Come _here."_

Flushing, Steve complies, slowly lying back down atop his warm body, Tony's hands reaching for his shoulders and then guiding him down. They kiss and it's sweet, _Tony's_ sweet, and then he pulls back without seeming to think of it and looks down. So Steve pushes himself up on his arms and holds himself there. Tony hesitates, catching his eye, and Steve nods.

So Tony slides his hands down Steve's arms and then back up again, over he shoulders and collarbones and down his chest. He touches every bit of skin he can reach without putting his hands down Steve's drawers, fingers gliding and palms sliding and hands rubbing and plucking and pressing like he's testing the give of Steve's body, all the time staring wide-eyed.

After he knows not how long Steve's shaking, and not from holding himself up on his arms. "You too?" Steve says, breathless. "Please?"

Tony glances up at him, then pushes at his chest and says, "Get rid of those, Steve."

Thought it physically pains him to move away Steve falls over onto his back and pulls his drawers off. Tony's moving behind him, presumably also taking off his clothes, and Steve gets tangled and has to wrestle his goddamn drawers and the covers at the same time. Tony laughs behind him - giggles, even - and Steve looks at him upside-down and unable to stop smiling.

"Ha _ha!"_ Steve finally yells, throwing his drawers away in triumph, and Tony's laughing as Steve (also laughing) rolls over and drags himself back into Tony's arms.

Tony did indeed take off at least his shirt, but he's under the covers. He's not actually clutching them to his chin but he's clearly not entirely comfortable, so when Tony reaches for him and pulls him in Steve goes at angle, wrapping his arms around Tony but keeping his hips firmly away from him. He's leaning on his right elbow, his arm beneath Tony, Tony's own arms around Steve's shoulders, Steve's left hand rubbing up and down Tony's arm.

Steve kisses him some more, and then some more, and some more after that, and after a minute Tony huffs a laugh against his mouth. "Come _on,_ Steve," he laughs, impatient, and pulls on Steve's arm.

_"Tony,"_ Steve groans, trying to sound like he's annoyed instead of about to come untouched.

Tony laughs again, falls back a little, and Steve rises up on his right arm enough to free his left hand. He traces the outline of Tony's smile with his fingertips, Tony playfully following, then drags his fingers down the hollow of Tony's throat, marveling at the smooth, soft skin. He flattens his palm and draws it reverently down Tony's chest, enthralled by Tony's muscles twitching beneath him, nearly undone by the way Tony gasps and hides his face but flinches forward when Steve presses the heel of his hand against Tony's nipple.

"Oh god, Tony, please," Steve begs, gathering Tony close again and pressing words and pleas into his skin and hair, "please, please, please -"

"Yes," says Tony. He says it deliberately, though, and pulls Steve's face up to look him in the eye. "Yes, Steve."

Steve lets out a shuddering breath, body hot and flushed like he's run a mile, so eager to make every inch of Tony's skin feel shivery and good that he almost can't contain himself. "Gonna make you feel so good," Steve promises. "God, _Tony_ -"

This time when he wraps Tony up in his arms Tony shifts, too, and before Steve realizes what's happening Tony's completely beneath him, his knees barely bent but silky-hot thighs spread around Steve's stomach.

_"Oh,"_ Steve says, a gut-punched noise, and Tony wraps his arms tight around Steve's head and pulls him down and _kisses_ him.

"All right, all right," Steve says, not really knowing what he means, just wanting to get his mouth on every bit of Tony and losing all finesse while he tries to do just that. He kisses along Tony's cheek, his jaw, his neck, turns and follows the soft skin from the inside of Tony's elbow down his arm and collarbone and to the hollow of his throat. The whole time Steve's saying, "Please, please, please," and Tony's saying, "Yes, yes, yes -"

Into Tony's chest Steve says, "Tony _please_ just let me -"

"For godssake, yes!" Tony laughs. "Do whatever you're going to do but for godssake just _do it!"_

Steve mouths down his chest firmly, not letting himself put his mouth on Tony's nipples because he's pretty sure they'd both come just from that and he does want this to be a bit better for Tony. He remembers being young and how fast he'd come, and realizes how fast they're both likely to come this time, so his goal is _not_ to draw this out: his goal is to make it _spectacular._ To get in as much pleasure as possible for Tony before he comes, so though he wants to explore he doesn't linger, sliding down Tony's body and shuffling down the bed until he can kiss down Tony's hip to the top of his thigh.

Tony's breath is coming very quick, sounding almost panicked, and Steve looks up to find Tony staring at him, wide-eyed and surprised. He doesn't move, but his hands are gripping the sheets so tight they're white. Steve opens his mouth to ask, but when his lips part Tony's cock twitches. Steve stares at it, can't help himself, Tony's pretty cock pink and wet, nestled in thick dark curls. Steve licks his lips and Tony's hips twitch. Steve's mouth floods with longing, and he can't keep himself away; nuzzles at Tony's cock and presses his cheek to Tony's hair.

"Oh god, Steve," Tony says, and it sure does sound like he's having a good time. Steve settles in, putting his weight on his chest so his hands can run up and down Tony's thighs, unable to keep himself from pressing his own aching cock into the bed and moaning at the little bit of relief.

Tony smells so good here, and the proof of his arousal and enjoyment is heady. Steve mouths at his cock, licks at the head, seals his lips to the side of it and sucks, laps down to the base and pushes his nose through the curls to press the point of his tongue to Tony's balls. He wants to press his face between Tony's legs and get even closer; cover himself in Tony's smell and sweat and slick.

Tony's pressed into the bed too much, though, and Steve can't get at enough of him from this angle. With a glance at Tony's face for permission Steve scoops up his trembling thighs and pulls them over his shoulders, then gets distracted nibbling and sucking at the smooth skin beneath sparse hair on Tony's inner thighs.

When he follows Tony's gasps and the line of his thighs back into the cradle of his hips, he finds this position is even better than he thought it would be: Tony's calves and feet rest on Steve's back, grounding him, and his thighs embrace Steve's head and neck and shoulders, keeping him close and his every sense saturated in Tony, and when Steve winds his arms around Tony, pressing his hands to his heaving chest and stomach, his arms are filled with Tony, too - he's got Tony wrapped safe in his arms _and_ he's got all of Tony's most intimate places spread out and tilted towards his eager eyes and hungry mouth. He groans like he's been punched and has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to keep from coming right then.

"Steve," Tony's chanting, "Steve, Steve, Steve -"

Steve pushes his face into the slick, intoxicating skin in front of him. Finally able to reach, he kisses the beginning of the swell of Tony's ass - that perfect, _perfect_ ass - follows the gush of salty slick deeper and tries to get as much of it as he can, licking and sucking at Tony's opening.

Tony yells, back arching, and Steve is torn between fingering him and leaving his hands right where they are, squeezing rhythmically at Tony's chest and rubbing his nipples when he thinks of it.

He's overwhelmed, nearly drunk on Tony, and though the thought can't rise high enough in his head to be clear, Steve thinks in a wordless flutter of Tony's fears, and how even more than making him feel good Steve wants to show him that feeling good can be _easy_, so he licks and nuzzles his way out of Tony's opening, over his balls, up the jerking length of his cock, kisses the very tip and then swallows the whole of him down in one long slide.

"Steve!" Tony shouts on the top of his lungs. His fingers twist in Steve's hair, but he doesn't pull Steve off - he pulls Steve forward and bucks his hips, pushing his delicious cock further into Steve's fervent mouth, and Steve holds his breath and does his best to cover his teeth and sucks Tony as hard as he can.

Tony gasps, curls forward like he's been struck, yanks Steve's hair so hard he pulls himself right off the bed, clenches his thighs around Steve's head and comes.

Steve sucks him again and again, and the flood of warmth and taste down Steve's throat combined with the lost, almost pained sounds Tony's sobbing out make Steve feel so good that it takes a moment for him to realize he's coming, too, humping the bed like mad and pulsing on the sheets.

Tony seems to come for ages. Steve's own cock spends itself and stills, hot and sticky against his stomach, flooding Steve with warmth and tingling, and still Tony's mewling and thrusting into Steve's mouth, his cock still pulsing and spurting on Steve's tongue.

Eventually Tony's soft cries fade into gulping breaths and he relaxes by incriments, his body starting to go pliant before he jerks and tenses again, aftershocks rolling through him and hopefully helped along by the way Steve lets Tony's cock slide from his mouth so he can lick at it and suck gently on his balls. Steve doesn't even realize his hands have been grasping at Tony this whole time, running over his chest and stomach and arms and neck, until Tony unwinds shaky hands from Steve's hair and clutches one of Steve's hands in his own. Steve squeezes his hand and holds on.

Steve nudges forward and laps gently at his slick opening again and Tony flops back on the bed, panting like he's run a mile. His thighs flop off Steve's shoulders, baring his red, swollen cock and opening to Steve's mouth.

After a little while, though, Steve kisses his way up to the outside of Tony's hip, suckling lightly at the smooth skin for a moment before resting his chin gently there and looking at Tony's face.

Tony's sprawled back, arms out, hair a mess and dark with sweat. His eyes are closed, lashes clumped together, mouth slack - he's still panting, and looks like he's ready to fall asleep.

"Tony?" Steve whispers, unable to stop himself from lightly kissing the skin beneath his mouth. "Was that - Are you -" Steve stops, unable to find the words for what he wants to ask.

"Oh my god, Steve," Tony groans, and reaches for him. Steve goes eagerly, halfway dragging himself up the bed and halfway dragging Tony down into his arms. He isn't going to kiss Tony on the mouth, doesn't want to gross him out before he's had time to think about this, but as soon as Steve's in reach Tony wraps his arms around Steve's shoulders and kisses him, pushing his tongue past Steve's lips and groaning as he laps the taste of himself from Steve's mouth.

When Tony releases him with a wet sound it's Steve's turn to lie there and pant, staring down at Tony in wonder.

Tony smirks, then shifts to get his arms under Steve's so he can slide his palms down Steve's back and get two handfuls of Steve's ass.

Steve makes a pained noise, his hips jerking forward and his cock twitching in a valiant but pointless attempt to come again. Tony laughs breathlessly. "Come on Steve," he whispers, and bites Steve's chin. Steve's cock tries yet again. "Let me help."

Smiling fit to split his face, Steve buries his face in Tony's shoulder and kisses his neck. "Come on, Steve, Steve, Steve," Tony's saying, pushing at Steve's hips, presumably so he can get his hands under him.

"There's no need," Steve says, pulling back so he can see Tony's gorgeous smile and sparkling eyes, cupping his precious face in a gentle hand.

Tony rolls his eyes, though he does press his cheek into Steve's palm. "Steve," he says, "you don't need to - whatever it is you're doing. I - I _want_ this."

Steve laughs - not because anything's funny, but because he's so happy he can't help himself - and kisses Tony twice on the lips. "I love you. And that's not what I meant. I meant I, um, I kind of already..." Steve trails off, unable to say it in a way that doesn't sound crass. He doesn't want to let anything crass near Tony, especially not when he's like this, soft and warm and sparkling with afterglow and happiness.

"You're sweet," Tony says, still smiling and still trying to get his hands on Steve's cock.

"I'm serious," Steve says. "Couldn't help myself. You're so - That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen, Tony, I swear I've never felt anything like that before. That just - Getting to do that with you, and seeing you, and hearing you, and tasting - I couldn't help it."

"But _how?"_ Tony says.

Steve laughs. "Whaddaya mean _how;_ I'm not sure I can make it much clearer than that."

"No, I mean you weren't - you weren't, um, inside? Me?" Tony's laughing, too, shaking his head, but his voice goes up at the end like it's a question.

"So?" Steve kisses his cheek.

Tony's still smiling, but he looks confused. "But I thought," and he doesn't finish.

"Thought what?"

"I thought, um, I thought alphas couldn't?"

"You thought alphas couldn't come?" But that's not right, because then why would Tony offer to help?

"I thought -" Tony says, and tangled tight together as they are Steve can feel it when his heartbeakt kicks up, his body tensing, his breath speeding. "They told me - They told me -"

"What'd they tell you, sweetheart?" Steve rubs his thumb softly against Tony's temple.

Tony sets his jaw. "They told me that alphas couldn't, that they _couldn't,_ so it was an omega's duty because it's not like alphas could help it, since they _need_ to be inside an omega, and I always thought there was something, something _wrong_ with me, because by myself I could - I could -"

"Oh Tony," Steve breathes, sick to his stomach.

"No, Steve, listen to me," Tony says, sounding angry and desperate. "I can - I can - I don't _need_ an alpha - I mean, not that I mean I don't need _you,_ unless that's -"

"Tony, breathe," Steve says. "Sweetheart, it's all right, I'm right here."

"But I just told you that I don't need you to -!" Tony still doesn't say it, but his brows are lowered like he's glaring, though the corners of his lips are twitching downwards, too.

"Tony," Steve says. Kisses his lips, just the once, because he cannot bear seeing them look like Tony's about to cry. "There is _nothing_ wrong with you. Nothing at all. You hear me? I love you. And I -" he bites off the rest of the sentence.

"No, Steve," Tony says, and he still looks like he's going to cry but his voice is hard. "Say what you were going to say."

They stare at each other for a beat.

Steve is so bad at this. He is _so_ bad at this. He can barely say the word 'come' aloud to his husband right after they had sex; how on earth is he supposed to say the words for a conviction he can't even articulate in his own head?

Tony sets his jaw, eyes glittering, and raises his chin like he expects - he doesn't expect Steve to actually hit him, but he does expect a verbal slap.

"It's nothing to do with me," Steve tries. "What you, what you do with yourself, Tony, that isn't _mine._ That's _yours._ So it really doesn't matter what I think of it, you know? But I'm... glad."

Tony still doesn't say anything, but his look of flat disbelief speaks enough on its own.

(And even in the midst of a tense situation, even coming up against another way Tony was so wronged by the people who were supposed to care about him and on the receiving end of Tony's distrust, Steve can't help but think 'adorable,' and marvel at how expressive Tony is, and love him all the more.)

"You're glad," Tony says flatly.

"Yeah."

"How on earth are you glad?"

Steve shrugs as best he's able. "I'm - It feels good, right? I'm, I'm glad that when you were - where you were before - you were still able to feel good. And I'm glad that you can, can make yourself feel good whenever you want. I want to - I _love_ what we just did, Tony, and I'll happily do that with you every moment of every day, but I'm glad you don't have to be dependent on _me_ for _you_ to feel good. And I'm glad that if you decide you don't want to do this with me again, you'll still be able to, to feel good without me."

If anything Tony looks closer to the verge of tears than before. Steve can see half a million replies flit across his face before he settles on one. His tone and expression completely at odds with the flippancy of the words Tony says, "I hope you're telling me the truth about that, because I want to do exactly what we just did and nothing else forever."

_"Really?"_ Steve gasps.

"Yes, really, you fool," Tony says, smiling for real now.

_"Your_ fool."

"Yes, yes, _my_ fool," Tony whispers. Pulls Steve down and kisses him, ever so gentle and ever so sweet, and between kisses whispers against his lips: "My fool. My alpha. My husband. My - my love."

Throat closing, Steve manages to say, "All yours."


	10. Chapter 10

Later that day Steve finds what he will come to think of as The Letter. He and Tony have dragged themselves from their bed at last, intent upon completing their chores and sating their ravenous hunger as quickly as possible. Tony's barely out of Steve's sight for a moment until all at once he's just not there anymore. Confused, Steve comes all the way into the kitchen and closes the door behind himself, looking around as though Tony will suddenly pop out from the writing desk or something.

There's an envelope on the table.

It's thick, much thicker than any letter Steve's ever received, and the only word on the envelope is his name. It's in Tony's handwriting. His heartbeat kicks up the way it always did - always does - whenever he receives a letter from Tony.

He looks around for Tony one last time, but there's neither sight nor sound of him. So he picks up the envelope and opens it. There are pages and pages, and even before he starts reading he can see that some of the pages are Tony's fine stationary and some are the cheap stationary Steve gets, and some of the pages are wrinkled and torn, and the first page looks like Tony's hand was shaking.

The date at the top is the day before their wedding. The very first day they met.

Steve barely manages to pull out a chair before he sits down heavily.

> Steve,
> 
> I met this alpha today, Steve. He's huge. Seriously, he's like twice as big as I am. He lifted my entire trunk with one arm. He could probably break me in half. He probably will break me in half when
> 
> Jarvis tried to protect me all day. I've never seen him so upset. He thinks I can't tell, but I can. I'll let him believe, though; gods only know it's cold enough comfort. He and Ana kept me safe from everyone for so long, and now he's got to hand me over to someone else. A stranger neither of us has ever met. I heard him tell Ana before we came here that he feels like a failure for not being able to keep me safe without doing this, and at the time I was - it didn't feel right. I wanted to come out here, Steve. I wanted to come find you.
> 
> But then I got here and now...
> 
> I don't know why I believed everything in your letters. I did, though. Maybe it was because they came from so far away; like I thought dishonesty and treachery and manipulation were exports of New York and New York alone.
> 
> I still believed that when I met him, you know? Still believed every word of every letter like the starry-eyed, empty-headed fool I am. I was even glad he was so big! And handsome, Steve, so handsome. My life is over.
> 
> He said Jarvis could stay for as long as we like. He said we don't have to get married right away. He said no one in town will talk. He said the house is mine, too.
> 
> Howard used to do that, you know? He'd give me something he knew I wanted and then twist it and use it against me, but it'd be even worse because whenever I told him to stop he'd just say I had wanted it.
> 
> I don't know anyone here, Steve. I only know him. If he - He can do anything he wants to me.
> 
> This one time, gods, this one time Rhodey came over. We were, what, maybe nine? Ten? Howard spent the whole time embarrassing me. Telling Rhodey all these terrible things about me - all things that were true but secret, you know? I still wet the bed. I'd cry if someone even looked at me funny. I couldn't go to school with the other kids because I was too stupid. Why would anyone want to be friends with someone as pathetic as me? And I couldn't even say anything, because I'd asked for Rhodey to come over and Howard was telling the truth.
> 
> This happened five or six times before I finally learned to just stop having friends over. The only two people who kept talking to me were Rhodey and Nebula. Neither of them believed him. At least, neither of them believed that the things he said were as important as he said they were. Rhodey kept reminding me that we'd sworn to be brothers and brothers stick together, and Nebula's father was even worse than Howard (if you can believe it) so she didn't fall for any of it. I wonder what became of her.
> 
> Why'd he say Jarvis can stay, Steve? Does he just not care if Jarvis knows what he's doing to me? Is he going to be kind while Jarvis is here so Jarvis doesn't check on me as often as he might once he leaves? Is this alpha never going to marry me at all? What if he's already married? Does he think that even if we're not married we can act like we are? Is everyone here very rigid about marriage, and so if I agree to stay the night with an unmarried alpha will they look down on me so I'll be at a disadvantage here for the rest of my life? What? Why did he say all those things? What is he trying to get?
> 
> The house is so beautiful, Steve, I wish you could see it. I wish I could have it. It's small and warm and I know if I asked you about any one of the nails you'd be able to tell me where you got it and what was happening when you used it.
> 
> I wish there was a way to keep the house and get rid of the alpha.
> 
> It's like living inside... I don't know how to say it. There were little places, in the house in New York, that used to feel like mine. I had a hatbox, just a tiny one, that I managed to keep secret from the time I was four till I was nearly seventeen. I knew every bit of that box; every single minuscule little scratch. I made the inside new, remade the lining using scraps of clothes I liked and grew out of; covered it with pictures from magazines and books my parents threw away for whatever reason. I kept so many things in there that I was so attached to. Ana used to call them my precious things. I guess they were.
> 
> That's what the house feels like, Steve. Not just one little tiny piece of it, but the whole thing. It's like stepping into someone's box of favorite things that they made just to keep those things safe. And it's - it's strange, the way I feel like there are bits of it missing; bits of it left unfinished just for me.
> 
> But why? Why, Steve? If I change one thing in the house, will I gradually be responsible for the upkeep of more and more of it, until I'm working on the house day and night? Do I get to change things however I want so that he can say that my choices were wrong? Laugh at me for being foolish, or say that clearly I can't do anything right so he's just going to have to make every single decision himself?
> 
> Is it because I'm a precious thing, Steve? A precious thing? Something pretty to put in the house to play with or ignore as it suits him?
> 
> I know what's going to happen to me once we're wed. It's unavoidable. I thought that the fact he's so handsome might make it better, but sitting here on the bed I can't help but think that being stabbed with a knife doesn't hurt less if the knife is pretty. Even if he doesn't go out of his way to hurt me, it's not like he'll be able to help it. Maybe he'll be kind, though, and make it quick.
> 
> I don't know anyone here. Not him or anyone else. No one knows me. Jarvis is leaving tomorrow and won't be able to come back for ages, if he ever can at all. If I were to vanish from the face of the earth no one would know. No one would care. Tomorrow we're presumably getting married, and then Jarvis is leaving on the train, and then he's got me caught and I'm alone.
> 
> Come and save me, Steve. Please save me.  
  


Scribbled in the margins, in big spikey letters written in different ink, it says, Why'd you have to go and be handsome, Steve?

The next few pages are on Tony's good stationary, each of them with only a few lines at the top.

> Mr Rogers,
> 
> Thank you for your letter. I find myself

> Mr Rogers,
> 
> Thank you for your letter. It was very nice. I appreciate

This one is wrinkled; balled up and then smoothed out, probably.

> Steve,
> 
> I got your letter.
> 
> Of course I got his bloody letter he put it under my goddamn door

The bottom corner is torn off. I'm afraid, Steve thinks.

Then there's a single sheet of paper that's filled with what looks like drafts:

> Steve, I read your letter. It was ridiculous. Why would you write something like that, Steve? What are you trying to do to me?
> 
> Steve, your letter was an utter failure. You said you wanted to explain things, to tell me things, so that I would understand everything, and instead I understand less than I did before.
> 
> Steve, I don't know what to say in response to your letter. In lieu of that I think I'll tell you what I haven't told you at all yet, which is that you are very handsome and you seem so kind and
> 
> Mr Rogers, I have received and read your missive and find it entirely satisfactory. I have absolutely no questions; any and all concerns that may heretofore have plagued me have been summarily dismissed. I find myself entirely cognizant of your character, your motives and ambitions, and I am content. Nothing about you remains an insoluble puzzle; nor, indeed, has anything about you ever been. Felicitations; now that we understand each other we need never interact with one another again. I'm staying in here and I'll see you in a few years. Maybe.
> 
> Steve, but why did what you want change? What did I do? What do I need to avoid to keep it from changing back?
> 
> Mr Rogers, thank you for your letter. I appreciate you taking the time to write all of this out for me. It will be helpful, and I will begin trying to learn how to do my part immediately. You wanted a partner, Steve, and that's what I can be.
> 
> Whoever You Are, just tell me when it's going to happen. I think I could bear all the rest if only I knew that.
> 
> Steve, you still haven't told me what I'm to do about laundry. I'm running out of clean clothes, you know. I don't know if it would be worse to ask you or to wait until you notice the smell.
> 
> Mr Rogers, what do you want? Just tell me what you want. You don't have to try to convince me or manipulate me or trick me any more, all right? I'm spun about enough. You've won. Congratulations. Just tell me what you want and leave me the hell alone.
> 
> To Whom it May Concern: Here lies Anthony Edwin Rogers, lately of New York and currently of Big Eden, who on this day thought himself to death.

On and on and on like this for the rest of the page, and then down to the very edge of the other side of the page, too.

On Tony's good paper:

> Dear Steve,
> 
> You likely believe I'm writing to my mother. Five minutes ago you would have been right. I thought I had so much to say to her until I started writing, and now I find there was far less to say than I thought.
> 
> Rather, I do have a lot to say, but I was wrong about whom I need to say it to.
> 
> You're a good man, Steve. And a good husband. I don't know why you doubt either of those things sometimes, but from now on I want you to remember this letter whenever the doubts creep in.
> 
> Before meeting you - No, even before that. Prior to leaving New York, I suppose, I had a very clear picture of what a good husband and a good alpha would be, and you only fulfilled that fantasy some of the time. The rest of the time you were like nothing I'd ever hoped for, like nothing I ever dared dream. I wanted so badly to trust you, Steve, but the more sure of you I became the more I doubted myself. And, to be honest, the more selfish I became, too. The more you gave me the more I wanted.
> 
> I'm in love with you, Steve.
> 
> I'm sorry it's taking so long for me to trust you. I do trust you, Steve, I do. I don't mean to be the way I am. I trust you but I don't act like it and I'm sorry. I wish there was a way to show you that you deserve my trust - it's not that you're not trustworthy, it's that I'm distrustful.
> 
> I need you to know that I don't blame you, Steve. I won't. I know I'll be hurt and I know you'll feel guilty, but I won't blame you. I know you can't help it. I'll be all right.
> 
> I'll give this letter to you someday. Hopefully one day I'll be brave enough.
> 
> All my love,  
Your Tony

The next is on the cheap paper, and Steve's written enough letters in near-darkness with shaking hands to recognize the changes in Tony's writing when he sees them:

> Why doesn't he want me, Steve? Why doesn't he want me? You said you wanted to marry me. Me, not just anyone. Those were your exact words. So why? Is it because now you know how weak and pathetic I am? Is it because I'm not what you were expecting? Am I that ugly? Is that what it is? I'm your FUCKING HUSBAND, STEVE, FUCKING FUCK ME ALREADY.
> 
> WHY DON'T YOU WANT ME  
  
  


Another sheet of the cheap paper:

> What's wrong with me? I shouldn't be upset in the first place, since I know it'll hurt, but to not even kiss me? Am I that repulsive? What is it about me that disgusts you so? I can't tell because you never act like you're repulsed by anything about me. Do you think I'm used goods? Is that it? Two other alphas wanted to marry me, Steve, but I swear neither of them ever had me. I have to tell you that. How can I tell you that? How can I make you believe me? Why do I want to? I've been dreaming of a husband that doesn't want me since I found out what it is alphas do to their spouses. And now you don't want me! You're a dream come true, Steve! Why the hell do I want you to kiss me? Why can't I ever just be content with what I have?

Tony's good stationary:

> Steve,
> 
> I wish you'd tell me what happened to you. You've told me some and the gods only know I don't like any of it, but I wish I knew all of it. I know you don't want me and I don't care about that. This is what I was talking about in my last letter, Steve. How can I see you cry and think of kissing you? What's wrong with me for wanting you to keep me in your arms when the only reason you're holding me in the first place is because you're afraid? I'll do better, Steve, I promise I will.
> 
> And here I go, making this entire letter about me. I'm trying to stop being so selfish, I really am.
> 
> No. What I said before isn't a wish. I'm asking you, Steve: please tell me what happened. I know you don't want to, and I understand that, I swear I do, but I can fix this, Steve. I can fix it, but I need to know what it is I'm fixing in the first place.
> 
> I'm still confused about what you want from me. I know you wrote me that wonderful letter, and believe me when I say I know every word of it (I might read it every night), but I'm still unsure. And I don't care anymore what exactly it is you want from me because I'm afraid - I'm not afraid of you anymore, Steve. I know that whatever it is you want isn't more than I can give. But I need to know what you want because I want to give it to you.
> 
> I never want to see you like that again, Steve. Not that I'm asking you to hide it from me! I don't think I could bear it if I knew you had another nightmare and I slept through it. Please wake me up. I just don't want you to have to go through that again, whether I'm there or not. You were so lost, and in so much pain, and you were right there and yet you broke my heart.
> 
> I love you, Steve. I'm so in love with you. I want to be with you when you're hurting, but I'd rather you not hurt in the first place. Please tell me, Steve. I promise I'll only love you more.
> 
> With every piece of my broken heart,  
Your Tony

The final page is also on Tony's good stationary. It's dated today.

> Steve, beloved,
> 
> There are a lot of things I want to tell you. I don't know how to tell you any of them. I hope that these letters are at least a start. I haven't kept any of them back, even though I never intended to give you all of them and there are some I wish I didn't need to - but I want you to read all of them, Steve. I want you to know.
> 
> This isn't a ploy, either. I'm not showing you some of my secrets because I want you to return the favor. This isn't a trade, all right? Yes, I do want you to understand that if you chose to tell me what happened I'll listen with love and go right on loving you, because I know that's what you'll do when you read these secrets of mine, but I hope that just knowing I'll love you no matter what will be a comfort. Whether you ever chose to tell me or not, I hope you're secure in the knowledge that you could.
> 
> Thank you. I'm not sure how to say that to you aloud, but I need you to hear me: thank you. Thank you for everything, and thank you for this morning. I have no doubt that you'll tell me it was nothing, that it was only what you wanted, that it wasn't a big deal, so I'm going to head all that off at the pass: it absolutely was a big deal, and it means the world to me.
> 
> It's more than just - well, everything else. More than being something amazing instead of terrible. It's that I get to be close to you - we get to be so close to each other - and it can be equally good for both of us. Neither of us has to be hurt, neither of us has to feel guilty, neither of us has to be left wanting, we can just - we can just be together, and Steve, I want so badly to be close to you.
> 
> I love you forever,  
Your Tony

It's a good thing that's the last one, because Steve can barely get through it before his vision finally gets too blurry to see through. He covers his eyes with his hand, breathing hard, trying to get ahold of himself. He doesn't know what he's thinking, or what he's feeling. All he knows is he wants Tony and wants him right now.

There's the sound of Tony's quiet footsteps on the stairs, and Steve hastily sniffs and wipes at his eyes, starting guiltily like he's been caught doing something wrong.

"H-Hello, Tony," Steve manages, still wiping his eyes.

Tony doesn't say anything, just comes to stand beside him and brushes his shoulder with his fingertips.

"Sorry," Steve says, sniffing again and not looking at him.

"Nothing to be sorry about," Tony says softly.

They've had sex. Tony's reached out to him multiple times. Tony's kissed him. Tony appears to love him - _really_ love him. Steve's had Tony's cock in his mouth and his tongue in Tony's lovely ass. So far as Steve can tell, Tony _trusts_ him.

He'd rather cut off his own hand than betray that trust. After reading the letters Steve may need Tony in his arms desperately, but _none_ of that means that Tony is something Steve can just reach out and take.

Wordlessly, Tony holds out another sheet of paper. It's his good stationary, covered in his handwriting. There's no salutation, and it reads more like a diary entry than a letter. Halfway through Steve's close to losing control of himself again, overwhelmed by a feeling he's too muddled to name, and he doesn't even finish it before looking up at Tony and saying, "Why didn't you say anything? This whole time you wanted a sketchbook of your own? Tony, why -"

"I don't, though," Tony says.

"But, but you say right here..."

Tony sighs and brushes Steve's hair off his forehead. He won't meet Steve's eyes. "I wanted to know if you were going through my things. The first letter, I wrote that the first night here. I was going to burn it. I don't know why I didn't. But I hid it instead, and didn't write anything after that because I thought you'd read it. I wanted to be sure you weren't reading my papers, so I picked something I didn't care about one way or another and wrote an entire page to myself about how much I wanted it. I knew that if you read it you'd try to give it to me, whether you made up an excuse for why you'd thought of it or no."

There's such a morass of conflicting feelings and urges swirling inside Steve's head that he isn't even able to fully parse what Tony's saying. What does get through to him makes him feel like an utter failure, though hell if he'd be able to explain why.

"There are different kinds, Steve," Tony continues quietly. He hasn't stopped gently petting Steve's hair, and it's the best thing Steve feels right now. "My uncle Obie - Zeke's father - I liked him so much for so long. I used to wish he was my father instead of Howard. He used to give me all kinds of things when I was growing up, and he was always nice to me and listened to whatever I had to say, unlike my own father. But...

"It took me a long time to see it - well, a long time and a lot of time spent with Jarvis and Ana - but Obie didn't care about me, not really. Not about _me._ He didn't think of me as a person, he thought of me as a - as a _pet,_ some tiny helpless thing to be spoiled and coddled. But you certainly wouldn't let a kitten make its own decisions about what to do with its life, would you, Steve? You wouldn't let a puppy play with fire or go out by itself at night, right? That'd be irresponsible. But it would be irresponsible of _you,_ not of the kitten or the puppy, because it's impossible for either of them to be _responsible_ in the first place. And I. I needed to know if that was how you thought of me, too."

"Tony? Can I - Can I -" Steve isn't even sure what the words are, but he makes a helpless gesture towards Tony, and Tony tugs his wrists until he's standing and then winds Steve's arms around himself, curling up against Steve's chest and tucking his face into Steve's neck.

It's heaven. It's _real._ Steve's unsure of a lot of things, and he feels bad about a lot more, but the reality of his life is that Tony is here and in his arms, and Steve can hold on to him to steady himself and work his way from there.

"Oh," Tony says suddenly, pulling back to look up at Steve, "you were never going to kiss me. You were waiting for _me_ to kiss _you._ I just got that."

Steve doesn't know what to say to that either, so he just smiles and shakes his head, pushing his fingers into Tony's hair and cupping the side of his head.

"Steve?" Tony says. When Steve hums he says, "Blanket permission. All right? I'm giving you blanket permission to touch me."

Steve gives a watery laugh. "I'll take blanket permission for hugs, all right?"

"Yeah, sure," Tony says, smiling and closing his eyes. "In that case I'm going to have to ask you to please kiss me."

So Steve does, of course he does, and then again. Tony hums. "Well, I have to say that your advertisement was an abject failure. You wanted someone to feed the chickens while you're away, and Steve, the next time you go on a trapping trip I'm going with you."

"My advertisement was a smashing success," Steve says, tipping Tony's chin up to catch his eye. "I was lonely and I just wanted someone else about the place, and instead because of it you found me."

"So," Tony says, trying to sound conversational but voice muffled as he burrows into Steve's shoulder, "I'm considering rescinding your permission to ever _stop_ hugging me."

Steve laughs again. "I can live with that."

He does.


End file.
